Operation Nail the Swan
by Fyrebyrd
Summary: Her audition turns me on, and that pisses me off, but it's her identity that's the game changer.
1. The Artist and the Rat

**Ninkita was kind enough to beta this one, also, and Ceceprincess (well, in her own way) and Mana Liz pre-read.**

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 **Here's my true Mobward. So, let's discuss before you start:**

 ****This is not Mobward-lite. Expect death, destruction and illegal activity. The only lives I will assure are ExB.**

 ****Don't expect instant love; they're nowhere in the vicinity.**

 ****Edward is a pretentious asshole who likes nice things and likes to tell you about it. He'll stay that way until he values other things more.**

 ****I make every effort for you to know the gist of the Italian when they speak it but not always in direct quote. I hope that it's clear enough not to distract you. I love Italian speaking Edward, yum! Translations come from Google, but not always the translator. I've found a list slang phrases, also.**

 ****I'll be posting 3 chapters for the rest of this week, and it'll be after Thrice Betrothed is finished before I get back here. A month or so, most likely. I did add 1100 words to the end, though.**

 ****If you can handle all that, then read on :)**

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The steady thrum of music reverberates through the walls as I sit at Rose's desk, sipping my Glenfiddich and going over the club's income statement. Midnight Sun is a completely legit enterprise that I like to dangle in front of the Feds. They spend so much of their focus here that the rest of Chicago is like a wide-open playground.

A tap sounds at the door. "Come in." Setting my whiskey aside, I lean back and prop my feet on the desk.

A svelte fake-blonde slips inside and closes the door behind her. With a lift of her perfectly sculpted brow, I know exactly what she thinks of my relaxed position, but she won't dare say the words.

I chuckle. "Rose, can I help you?"

Her eyes narrow but only slightly. She's not a fucking fool. "Do you have time for an audition?"

I tilt my head and shrug. "I suppose I could make the time." Standing, I stalk around to the front of the desk and stand before her, picking a piece of lint from her red suit. "This one better fucking measure up, though. I have no interest in littering Midnight Sun with the trash you paraded before me last time."

"Y-yes, sir," she stutters as she backs away and hurries out the door.

I laugh to myself as I retake my seat. I like Rose—as much as I like anyone outside the Outfit—but it's imperative that she know her place. And that's subservient to me. She has one job, and it's to run this fucking club to the letter of the law. Otherwise, she's another useless twit with great legs.

Midnight Sun sets the standard for young and hip while providing the most self-indulgent atmosphere possible. Our dancers are displayed throughout the main floor on raised platforms. Both male and female bodies twirl in sinuous displays, completely lost to their own beat. Our patrons come because it's the place to be, but they stay for an experience unlike any other.

It's for this reason that I'm the only person who can approve someone for the floor. Our dancers aren't the average fifty-dollar-fucks you get at low-ball joints spread throughout town. I consider them to be artists, sculpting an erotic free-flowing masterpiece that's constantly evolving before our patrons' eyes. Our ultraviolet lighting, just perfectly placed, in combination with the heavy beat from the music creates a heady ambience as the backdrop to their performances.

I grab my whiskey and kill it before settling back at the desk and opening the small laptop. Just as I've gotten logged on, a small knock sounds before the door pops open and Rose peeks her head around the corner.

Lifting my hand, I flick two fingers, giving her the go-ahead to enter. She straightens and struts into the room with a scantily clad woman trailing behind her. After only a glance, I lift a dubious brow at Rose, but instead of appearing concerned, she simply passes the jump drive over and holds my stare.

When she finally looks away, because let's face it, she fucking better, I curl my lip and push the drive into the USB, instantly uploading all the information for this prospective artist straight to my younger brother, Emmett. By the time this audition is over, he'll know everything about this girl, down to her favorite color of nail polish.

Taking my time, I pour a fresh glass of whiskey and rock back in my chair. "What's your name?"

"Edward, this is Iz—"

My glass smacks against the desk as precious caramel liquid sloshes over the rim. "Did I ask _your_ name, Rosalie?" The ice-cold barb is delivered with a scolding stare before I flick my eyes back to scrutinize the dancer.

Her whole demeanor screams small and scared—slumped shoulders, eyes to the floor, wringing hands. My expectations decline rapidly, but I refuse to pass judgment prematurely. I've seen excellent artists in the past whose only confidence lies in their performance. In real life they're timid and sometimes even clumsy.

A dark thought enters my mind, and I start across the room, stopping first as I tower over Rose. "You're dismissed."

With an encouraging grip of the young woman's arm, Rose meets my eyes and lifts her chin before strutting from the room. Her confident behavior perplexes me in a way that only piques my curiosity. Intrigued, I focus back on the woman of the hour.

Taking one long stride, I stand head and shoulders above her. The tension in her frame is obvious, but it isn't fear that I sense. It's defiance, strong and potent, that rolls off her small form in waves.

I smirk to myself and speak in a low, commanding voice. "What is your name?"

A deep breath is drawn and expelled before her voice rings through the silent space. "Izzy Star," she says, her dark eyes snapping up to meet mine.

The fury that rages within them is dangerous. For her. It would cost her life if she were to unleash it.

I hold her stare, cold and unaffected. "I didn't ask your stage name. Midnight Sun doesn't operate the way in which you might be accustomed." I lift a brow, daring her to open her pursed lips.

Rage, pure and unadulterated, flashes in her eyes, and she has to look away to conceal it. Smart girl. Surely Rosalie warned her of the dangers I pose.

With a deep, satisfied chuckle, I stalk back to the desk without further interaction. Lifting the remote, I push a button and a podium lifts from the floor as music and lights create a mini-replica of the main dance space, three floors below.

The stage is set; her clock is ticking down.

Though her head is turned in my direction, the darkness prevents me from seeing the anger I feel in her stare. I wave her off. "Save your indignation. Audition or get out."

Patience isn't my strong suit, and just before mine snaps to smithereens, her body starts moving. She begins by stretching her neck back and around, a slow movement meant to tantalize, but I'm completely immune to petty tricks. She'll need to do much better than this.

Slipping the small silk coverlet from her shoulders, she's up on the platform in one sudden move that's perfectly timed with the music that pulsates from the speakers. Her body is toned and sinful, but they always are. You don't come to Midnight Sun looking for a position unless you have skill, it's an unspoken rule. My rule, but word gets out.

I chuckle at my own thoughts, and focus back on the woman poised against the center prop. Okay, it's a fucking pole, but I don't like the term nor the cheap implication, and no one dares to refute me, so a prop it is.

As the notes expand and fill the room, her body seems to absorb them. Fluid and elegant, she bursts into movement as if the music is emanating from her very pores. The sway of her hips, though something I've seen a thousand times, is mesmerizing, and her goddamn legs ... they go on forever.

My eyes rove over her, eager to drink in every slight fluctuation as the ultra-violet light makes her skin glow in the dark space. Methodically, she breaks through my every barrier as she caresses skin that I ache to feel under my fingertips. With every dip, swerve and undulation, she puts her art on full display, and I'm goddamn hypnotized.

My normally unresponsive cock has now swelled in my Armanis, and my lower lip is trapped between my teeth. "What the fuck?" I mumble to myself as I release the tender flesh and take several deep, even breaths. " _Datti un contegno_ ," I growl, needing to get ahold of myself.

I avert my eyes from the sinful display and clench my jaw. It pisses me off to have this reaction. I'm not some fucking fourteen-year-old virgin seeing a pair of tits for the first time.

I'm the fucking Underboss of the Chicago Outfit.

What's worse, I can't stop my eyes from slipping back to her tantalizing display. I slam my hands on the desk, but she doesn't react. On and on she continues taunting me with her allure, cementing my traitor eyes to her seductive movements.

When I'm on the brink of putting a bullet through her head, the music finally comes to a stop and the room brightens, breaking the spell. She's just an average artist again, and the relief settles in almost immediately—for all pertinent body parts.

The room is silent of everything except her small puffs as she works to regulate her breathing. I use the quiet minutes to compartmentalize whatever the fuck just happened. By the time I'm ready to address her, I've convinced myself that I just need to get laid.

With unchecked anger still simmering below the surface, I pin her with a lifted brow. "Your name?" I state in a tone that leaves no room to misinterpret the demand.

When she stays silent, I stand, my chair flying backward at least three feet, and stalk toward her. "Let's get one thing clear," I say as I move across the room to tower over her. "If you want to work for my club, you'll learn some fucking respect. So give me your name or get the fuck out."

"Bella," comes the small voice before dark, deep eyes rise to meet mine. "My name is Bella."

I lift a strand of her chestnut hair, marveling at the softness as it glides between my fingers "Well, _Bella_ ," I emphasize to be a smart ass. "You do know who I am, right?"

The defiance that flashes in her eyes causes my cock to twitch. Anger surges through me, and I wrap her hair in my fist. "You'd do well to keep that hidden. Your audition was flawless, but you'll lose more than a job if you disrespect me again." I take a deep breath, inhaling the musky scent that rolls from her body, and release her, turning to storm from the room.

As the slam of the door echoes behind me, Rosalie jumps from where she was leaned against the wall. "Edward, you scared me half to death," she screeches, her hand on her chest as she takes deep breaths.

I stop, my fingers automatically gripping the tousled mess atop my head. "Pay attention next time," I snap, and then I start pacing like a caged animal.

After several glorious beats of silence, a huff draws my attention to Rose. She's standing there with her arms crossed and her eyebrow hiked high.

"What!" I snarl as I struggle to get my irrational anger under control.

"Nothing," she answers easily as she brings her hand up to study her nails. "Is Izzy hired, or should I send her home?"

I almost growl at the fucking stage name. "Fine!" I huff and step closer, my face menacing. "But if she's a fuck up, it's on you." With a jab to her chest, I turn and storm to the waiting elevator, using my fingerprint to travel down to the lowest depths.

The ride is smooth and calming as I work to regain my composure. When the doors open, I stride out, following the narrow pathway that connects this building to my own. After using my fingerprint to unlock a titanium reinforced door, I inhale the scent of concrete and the faint trace of burnt rubber. My lips lift at the corners.

"Mr. Cullen." Demetri, the trusted guard of my most treasured possessions, seems nonplussed by my unexpected appearance. "Do you have a particular vehicle in mind?"

I smirk. He knows me so well. "I'm headed to the warehouse; surprise me." I shrug, and he retreats into the small cement room.

After removing my Armani jacket, I roll the sleeves of my white shirt to my elbows, intent on ignoring the incessant vibrations coming from my phone.

"Here you are, sir," Demetri says as he returns with a key ring. "A most appropriate vehicle for a night such as this."

I chuckle as I take the key to my Range Rover. "Thank you, Demetri. This will be perfect." I toss him my jacket. "Save that for when I return."

I start for the neat row of carefully selected vehicles. Each step I take soothes me more and more. Pride swells as I pass my first purchase; a fully custom 1969 GTO convertible. A pang of sadness flits through me when I see the yellow Porsche—a gift for Alice, who's sadly no longer able to enjoy it. My thighs ache to grip my unrestricted 1999 Suzuki Hayabusa GSXR 1300, and my hands itch with the need to shift all seven gears of my Lamborghini Aventador.

As I slip into the Rover, I smile at the plastic that covers the driver's seat and floorboard. Demetri's been with the family since I was a boy, and he's one of my most trusted, competent made men. It almost feels as if he should be doing more, but I nix that thought when I think of anyone else touching my babies.

Before I pull out, my eyes stray back to the Busa, and I promise myself that it'll get a ride later tonight. Right now, I need to work out some frustrations, and what better way than to make a rat squeak?

When I arrive at the dilapidated brick building nestled into a dark corner near Lake Michigan, there's not a soul in sight. The sky overhead is pitch black with no moon to shine on my wicked deeds. The door whines in protest as I push it open, and the smell of stale dust and mildew fills my lungs.

A shiver runs through me, but it's the fucking good kind. The quiver of anticipation you get right before opening the throttle, releasing so much power that you're not sure if you can handle it until the moment is upon you.

Quietly, I use my key ring flashlight to slip through the dark interior, my Salvatore Ferragamos not making a sound. When I hear a noise, I step around a corner and pull out my piece. Clumsy footsteps follow a wide beam from a flashlight. I jump out and tighten my forearm around the idiot's throat, my barrel up against his temple.

"Make one move and you're dead," I say in a low growl.

"Boss?" comes the reply, and I roll my eyes, loosening my arm and pushing the body away.

"Ya fucking idiot! Guardi dove va!" I snap, telling Aro to watch where he's going. "I thought you were in charge around here." I widen my arms to the ruined building around us. "I could've been anybody sneaking in!"

"Sorry, Boss. I was just going out for a smoke," he says with a shrug. "I wasn't expecting ya here."

I cock my gun and point it at him. "Well maybe you won't care if I take you out right now, then?"

His eyes widen so far I can see the whites glowing. Shaking his head rapidly, he falls at my feet and wraps his arms around my legs. "Don't kill me, Boss. I'll quit smoking, I swear."

I pinch the bridge of my nose and look upward, my patience already on a knife's edge. Aro is one of my Caporegimes, along with his brothers Marcus and Caius, and while he's good at running a crew, he absolutely has a fucking screw loose. While Marcus is cool and calm, and Cauis has a mean streak, Aro's neither. He goes about life as if he lives in another realm, completely wrapped up in his own head, but he's effective. His crew are my highest earners.

Not wanting to ice a Capo, I breathe deeply and let it roll off my shoulders before kicking my legs out of his grip and moving away. "Get the fuck up, and take me to the rat."

Instead of going to the basement like I expect, Aro leads me up four flights of stairs and into an old corner office. Two of his soldiers guard a pathetic form, zip-tied to a chair, naked, aside from his cheap tighty-whities.

My eyes narrow as they scrutinize the associate who flipped and sent one of Aro's soldiers up the river. The anger from earlier returns, seeping into my blood and soaring through my limbs. Pure adrenaline rushes through my muscles as they coil tight with barely repressed energy.

I walk over and kick the snitch in the shin. He reacts with a loud scream as he lifts his drooping head, but it's immediately obvious the second he realizes who's standing before him. His eyes almost pop out of his fucking head.

"Jacob Fucking Black," I say, kicking his shin again, just because I like hearing him yell. "You're one lucky motherfucker to get my personal attention. Sporco cazzo di ratto." At me calling him a dirty fucking rat, Aro erupts into a belly-shaking laugh.

I pin him with murderous eyes. "Sta 'zitto."

He does as I tell him and shuts the fuck up, while I focus back on Jacob. Usually an offense such as this would be dealt with solely by Aro, but tonight I have some misplaced anger to unleash. And who the fuck knows, maybe I can make him squeak before I whack him.

Cracking my knuckles, I reach down and pull a knife from my Zimmerili Cashmere socks and flick open the blade, a sinister smirk aimed at the traitor. My steps are slow and measured as I approach him, the fear in his eyes feeding the monster inside me.

I reach up and push the blade into his forehead, digging a crevice across it, reveling in the blood that pools and runs into his eyes. His body starts struggling, twisting and rocking, anything to escape the torture, but I haven't even fucking begun.

When his scream fills the silence, I turn to Aro. "Duct tape his mouth."

My Capo rubs his hands together swiftly. "I like yo style, man."

Even though I tolerate Aro's quirks, disrespect is unacceptable. I snatch him up by the front of his shirt. "Never call me man again," I grit, enunciating each word slowly. "I'm your fucking boss, and you'll do well not to forget it."

The fear that flashes in his eyes is unmistakable, as it should be. On a night like tonight, a comment like that could cost him his life. "Now get the fucking tape." I shove him away and turn back to the blood-covered man in the chair.

Pacing before him, I wait as Aro loops the tape around his head. "You know, Jacob," I start absently, "I might be willing to give you a chance to die quickly. You could talk now and skip the incessant torture you're about to endure."

He starts shaking his head rapidly, which is no surprise. It would've been a huge fucking letdown if he'd agreed so quickly. An almost sinister laugh bubbles inside me, the giddiness of what I'm about to do uncontainable.

Stepping closer, I push the knife against where his palm and thumb connect and meet his eyes as I press down. His muffled screams are the only sound as I rock the blade back and forth, severing his thumb completely and thumping it to the floor.

"Torch." It's the only word I utter, but this time, Aro snaps into motion, hurriedly lighting the butane flame and passing it over.

I move it around in front of the snitch's face, allowing him to hear the powerful roar of the fire before I point it at his bleeding appendage. His skin sizzles and shrivels as the smell of burning flesh fills the air. His agonizing screams are cloaked by duct tape, and the monster in me rejoices.

By the time I get to his fourth finger, his eyes plead with me to ask the question again. But I'm too far gone; the evil motherfucker that I keep contained has been released. Instead, I pull a sawed-off shotgun from the harness on my chest and push it against his knee, pulling the trigger.

The flesh explodes from the blow and blood splatters everywhere. Repulsed by the red specks that dot my white Brunello Cucinelli button up, I step back and take several deep breaths, the monster fading.

"Rimuovere il nastro adesivo," I order, and watch as Aro unwinds the tape, pulling it off with chunks of hair still attached.

The rat is barely conscious, so I kick him in the shin, right below the knee I just blew to hell. A scream fills the air, but his angry eyes snap to mine. "Just fucking kill me, Cullen."

"Not until you tell me what I want to know," I say calmly. "We can continue our games or you can die with a little dignity."

He has the audacity to laugh, but it sounds slightly deranged. "You call spilling my guts dignity?"

I walk over and lean down to look him in the eye. The smell of singed wood and burnt flesh fill my nose. "Dignity is returning to your roots, righting a wrong you committed. You ratted on someone in the family. You owe a debt. The least you could do is tell me how they got to ya."

"And you'll put a bullet in my head?" he asks, a spark of hope lighting his eyes.

I nod once. "I'll blow your fucking brains out."

"What do ya wanna know?"

I take a step back and start pacing. "How'd they get to ya, and what do they know?"

With a heavy groan, he says, "Special Agent Swan."

My brows lift at this interesting development. Special Agent Swan is the head of the Organized Crime unit here in Chicago, and his target has been painted on my family for decades. I didn't even think he worked the field anymore, much less to go after small-time associates and soldiers.

"One of his men had Tyler under surveillance and caught a couple of buys between us on film." He pauses to catch his breath, and I briefly consider Tyler, a soldier I grew up with, who's doing a dime now thanks to this snitch. "Instead of using it to go after Tyler, Agent Swan came at me. Ya gotta understand, he threatened my wife. So for the next buy, I wore a wire."

I bark an incredulous laugh. "And you never considered that the Outfit would come looking for retribution?"

"Agent Swan told me he had it under control. He swore I could go back to my life and no one would come after me," Jacob says between heavy pants, and the funny thing is, I actually believe him.

"That's it? He didn't want you to work for him, get more info?" I ask, already suspecting that Agent Swan has another motive, an angle I'm unable to see right now.

"That's it, I swear," he says. "Kill me. Please."

"Where's ya wife?" I ask instead.

He starts shaking his head rapidly. "Please, no. No. I only did it for her in the first place. Please."

I pull out a Glock from my waistband and aim it at his head. "Ci vediamo all'inferno," I say, telling him I'll see him in hell as I pull the trigger.

Gathering my weapons, I turn to Aro. "Get this sorted, then find his wife and offer our condolences."

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 **Thank you for reading!**

 **See you tomorrow :)**


	2. Alley-Stained Hair

**Still a huge thank you to Ninkita for stepping in to beta, and Ceceprincess and Mana Liz pre-read!**

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By the time I pull back into my garage, a calm has settled over me, the rage from earlier completely dissipated. I pull the Rover all the way in to Demetri's station, where he's already standing with a large plastic bag. After getting out of the SUV, I strip down to my black silk boxers, depositing each item into the bag as I remove it—including the weapons.

This may be an expensive route, but it's a guarantee that my fingerprints will never appear on a murder weapon or a victim's blood on my clothes. Demetri will deposit each item, along with the plastic from the Rover, into the building's incinerator, a perfectly sinister addition that exists outside of the architectural blueprints, as do many other features of my building.

What good is an armory if I'm not using the weapons, anyway?

My eyes flash to the Busa as I head to the elevator. "Soon, baby."

After a quick shower, I throw on a black high-neck Cashmere sweater, making sure to top it with my Givenchy leather riding jacket. A quick trip to the armory supplies tonight's weapons, and the elevator returns me to my toys.

My Maison Margiela high-top leather boots thud against the concrete as I approach my baby. The thought of opening her up makes my blood race through my veins. Exhilaration fills me as I sling my leg over the sleek black machine, intimidating by its very demeanor. I slip the helmet over my head, and with the push of a button, the bike rumbles to life between my Armani jean covered thighs.

The power this machine exudes is unparalleled. The '99 was the first year of the Hayabusa, and it was so fast that its speed had to be restricted in 2000. Mine has seen the 200mph mark on an occasion or two, but even for me that's too fast for a two-wheel vehicle.

It was the closest to God I'll ever be.

With a two-finger wave at Demetri, I burn the back tire as I shoot toward the long underground tunnel that comes out blocks from my building. This is the one, true experience where I'm completely anonymous. Just another guy on his fucking badass bike.

By the time I hit the Kennedy Expressway, I'm already cruising at 70mph, the roar of power beneath me rocketing through my system. Twisting the throttle, I open her up, hitting 95 in mere seconds, and weaving my way through the nighttime traffic. For over an hour, I ride the differing expressways, until my appetite has been sated.

Getting off downtown, I make my way through the streets back toward my building. After passing Midnight Sun, I come to a stop at the light, and a slim figure moving down the sidewalk catches my eye. I rev the engine, but she doesn't turn so I can get a closer look.

When the light changes, instead of turning left for home, I continue straight and ease my way past the woman. Long dark hair conceals her face, but I'd know those fucking legs anywhere.

It's Bella.

Alone. In the middle of the night. Walking down the sidewalk.

I go to the next street and take a right so I can circle back around the block. But just as I see her figure again, she shoots down an alleyway.

What. The. Fuck.

What's even worse is two guys notice her also and start in the direction she disappeared. Anger surges through me. I pull back on the throttle, and the Busa surges to life beneath me, roaring down the city street faster than is legal.

By the time I turn into the alley, there are three silhouettes near the other end. Two large bodies have the smaller one against the wall, blocking her escape. I pull in the clutch and rev the engine, but they don't react. I let off the clutch and burn the tire halfway down the alley.

The two hulking figures take off, exiting out the other end, but my sights are on the woman. I stop in front of her and snatch off my helmet.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I yell, the rage from earlier making an abrupt reappearance. "Are you trying to get yourself killed!"

Bella, who was still cowering against the brick wall, turns from frightened to enraged before my very eyes. She steps forward and points her finger in my direction. "What the fuck are _you_ doing here? Haven't you already treated me like shit enough for one day?"

I lower the kickstand and pull my leg over the bike, standing to my full height. "I was saving your fucking life!"

She huffs and crosses her arms. "You really think I couldn't have handled that situation? That I'd be dead if you hadn't ridden up on your monster and saved me?"

My jaw clenches and I step closer, the fronts of our bodies almost touching. "I seriously can't fucking believe this. I save your life and you have the audacity to mock me." My eyes flit down her body once before returning to hers. "Did you misunderstand my earlier warning?"

Her eyes widen in pure unadulterated outrage. "How dare you! How fucking dare you!" Her finger lifts and starts jabbing me in the chest. "I may have to take that shit at Midnight Sun, but I won't take it here. Not when I'm away from the club. I won't!"

I'm so shocked by her reaction that all I can do is stand there and take it. Each jab sends a spark shooting through me, and by the time she's done, my blood is throbbing through my veins. Flashes of her dance pulse behind my lids, and the arousal from earlier returns ten-fold.

Stepping forward, I use my whole body to push her against the brick, trapping her in place, my cock bulging between us. My mouth descends on hers, and instead of pushing me away, she claws at my back to pull me closer.

The heat between us explodes as our tongues collide in a flurry of anger and passion. My palms trace down her sides before curving to cup her ass. With a small lift, she's up and her legs are gripping me tight as I finger the edge of her panties.

She pulls her mouth away, but I'm too far gone to care. Her head falls back against the brick as heavy breaths escape. My tongue travels down her neck as I start rocking my cock against her.

She moans, her hands frantically reaching for my waist, and I'm fucking done. Without removing my mouth from her skin, I have my pants open and my cock out, sliding her panties aside and filling her in one swift stroke.

The satisfaction is instant and mutual, but I need more. I fucking need it all. Planting my hands on her hips, I lean back and meet her eyes as I start thrusting. She braces her hands against the wall and rocks her whole body against me, tiny whimpers escaping in tune with each movement.

A shiver runs through me and I thrust faster, causing her to tighten and clamp down, her pussy pulsating against my cock. The feel of her spasming around me in combination with her sexy as fuck moans is more than I can take. I thrust as deep as I can and release with a growl, dropping my head to her shoulder in an attempt to gain control of my breathing.

After several quiet moments, I lift my head and look around at where I am and what I've done. I wait for the anger, or the disgust, but neither comes. I'm too goddamn blitzed out from a good fuck to even care.

"Gesù Cristo," I mumble, shaking my head.

Bella's leaned back against the wall with her eyes closed, but at the sound of my voice, they snap open. "What?"

I run my hand through my hair and step back, easing her legs to the ground. "Nothing. I can't believe we just fucked in an alley."

"But what did you say?" she demands as she works to straighten her skimpy-ass skirt.

"Oh." I wave it off as I'm fastening my pants. "I said Jesus Christ."

"That's all you have to say?" she asks, yet her voice has a new pitch. It's a little higher than usual. "You follow me here and accost me—in a dark, dirty alley no less—and all you have to say is Jesus Christ. You don't think I'm sorry is more appropriate?"

"Me?" I point to myself. "Sorry? What do I have to be sorry for? That was a mutual exchange if I've ever had one."

She huffs, her hand on her hip. "I'll give you that." She steps forward, that goddamn finger pointed. "Now stay the fuck away from me, Cullen. I may work in your brother's club, but I'm not your property." She turns and stomps away, but no matter how much I'd like, I can't let her go alone.

"Bella, wait. Please," I call, making her pause. "At least let me follow you home. I can't allow you to walk the streets alone."

She turns then, and she's actually smiling. "That's a nice sentiment, Mr. Cullen, but frankly, it's not your place to allow me anything, aside from my job at Midnight Sun." I go to speak, but she holds up a finger, waving it between us. "Thanks for the release, but I don't make a habit of fucking my bosses." She walks over and taps the brick of the building we just fucked against. "This is my building. All I have to do is walk around the corner, and I'll be home."

My jaw ticks, but I keep my mouth closed as she turns and sashays her fucking ass around the corner. Picking up my helmet, I sigh at the scuff across the top, and put it on, straddling the Busa. I wait a minute or two before revving her up and easing my way out the same end of the alley Bella just exited. Looking both ways, I make sure she really is inside before pulling into the street, headed home.

As the elevator climbs toward the penthouse, I wait for the anger to come, but it never does. I make it a priority to never fuck an employee, and I just blew that to hell, yet for some reason I can't even be bothered to care. The feel of her hot pussy clamping on my dick was just too fucking good. Somehow, I was able to forget we were in a nasty alley up against hundred-year-old brick.

I scrub a hand through my hair and lean back against the wall. "Ho bisogno di una doccia cazzo," I mumble, aching to wash the grime from my skin.

Apparently, that's not in the cards, though, because as soon as the doors open, I see bodies spread on my furniture. Interestingly enough, it doesn't even irritate me. What the fuck has that bitch done to me?

"Edward," my father exclaims as I walk into the living room. "It's nice to see you like to keep in touch with the family." He waves his glass of scotch around the room, motioning to Emmett and Esme, who are also present.

I snort. "Sure, Boss, the family." My eyes flick to Esme, who's nestled under my dad's arm.

Emmett cuts in then, trying to stop a disagreement before it begins. Holding up my phone, he pushes his glasses up his nose and says, "You left this here."

"No shit, Sherlock," I reply with an eye roll as I flop down on the crocodile leather sofa beside him. "I needed to get away and clear my head for a bit."

Carlisle chuckles, leaning forward. "Yeah, I heard about that." His glass slaps against the cherry wood of my coffee table. "Did it ever occur to you that there was a reason Jacob Black was still alive?" He pins me with deadly, ice blue eyes.

I lift a brow. "Not really. I figured Aro was just playing with his kill. You know how he can be." I shrug and get up to get my own glass of whiskey. I'm going to need it if this is how my night is going to go.

Esme stands quickly and holds out her hands. "You sit. I've got this." She swings her ass around and sways it all the way to the bar.

I cut my eyes to my dad and flop back down, too tired to even get into this bullshit tonight. "Is it a problem that I iced him?"

Carlisle drags his eyes away from Esme's ass and sighs. "Doesn't matter if it is. It's done, but that's not why we're here anyway." He waves toward my brother and turns back to watch Esme as she delivers my drink. "Emmett."

My brother leans forward and grabs his tablet from the coffee table, cueing it up and passing it over. I take a sip of my whiskey and look at the information on the screen, spewing Glenfiddich everywhere when I realize what I'm looking at.

"Cazzo di Budda," I whisper to myself, because seriously, holy fuck.

On the screen is a picture of Bella, only her name is Isabella—Isabella Swan. Instead of anger, a smirk forms. We've been waiting for a move like this since we opened, but never did I imagine Charlie Swan would send in his own daughter. Surely the stupid fuck knows we'd ID her, right?

"Get Aro and Rose here," I snap, my mind already forming a strategy. "Now!" I add when Emmett just looks at me with wide eyes.

He starts shaking his head slowly, his large glasses slipping down his nose. "There's no way you're pinning this on Rose. You're the one who hired her."

I roll my eyes. "Don't fucking worry, I'm not gonna blame your little imaginary girlfriend, but we have a strategy to discuss and implement." I rub my chin, lost in my own chaotic thoughts.

On the one hand, I've been waiting for this opportunity since Midnight Sun opened, but on the very fucked up other, I'm suddenly not so excited because it's Bella. I'm … if I had to put a name to it, I might even say, slightly disappointed?

I stand and start pacing, my hand tightening around my alley-stained hair. The thought disgusts me so I snatch it away, irritation creeping in to replace the buzz from my earlier encounter.

"Cazzo," I swear and pace faster, my mind jumping from thought to thought so rapidly I can barely keep up.

Every time I try to imagine how this plays out, flashes of us fucking invades my mind. But then a new thought occurs; one that gives me another focus and much more satisfaction. Will she report that to her father?

I actually chuckle aloud.

"Care to share with the class?" my father asks, waving his scotch-bearing hand in the air.

"I just can't believe Agent Swan was stupid enough to send in his daughter," I remark absently.

"Edward," my father says, his voice stern. "Did you read the information after her name and parents?"

I pause and look to him with furrowed brows. "No, but surely that's the most important fact."

Carlisle sighs and stands, walking over to grip my shoulder. "Son, if you're going to fill my shoes one day, you've got to learn to slow down and take in all the information before deciding on a course of action." He squeezes once and lets go, tilting his head toward the abandoned tablet. "Now, go look again."

My eyes narrow, but I follow his orders, mostly because I have no fucking choice, and grab the tablet, flopping down with purpose. As I scan the information, aside from who she is, it becomes clear why he felt the need to point it out.

From the looks of it, Bella hasn't had much contact with her dad since her parents divorced when she was seven. She grew up in Phoenix and graduated from the University of Arizona School of Dance two years ago, which could help explain why she's so bewitching. She broke up with her college sweetheart and moved to Chicago six months ago. The final piece of information brings a smile to my face. That goddamn Emmett. Her favorite nail polish color is purple.

I lift a brow at the Boss. "You seriously think this was a coincidence?"

He smirks. "You know I don't believe in coincidence, but I also don't believe in going off half-cocked."

At his mention of the word cock, Esme perks up and starts rubbing his thigh. I almost gag and jump up, heading into the kitchen to pour bleach in my eyes. Esme Platt is six years younger than me and is my father's goomah. And while it's a fairly common practice in the Outfit, I don't like to witness it, or anything that relates my father and sex. What's even worse is when your mother likes the goomah better than she likes your father.

I lean against the counter and take deep breaths, making every attempt to erase the image from my mind. But thoughts of sex only lead to my own, and before I know it, I'm reliving the whole ten-minute encounter in fine detail.

The ding from the elevator snaps me from the memory and I shake my head, heading back into the living room. Aro emerges and goes straight to my father, being a good little suck up, and Rose takes my seat next to Emmett, who turns bright red when she smiles his way.

I roll my goddamn eyes.

I love my brother as much as I can love another person, but he's not cut out for this life. From a very young age, it was obvious he'd never become a made man, unless it was by force. So he keeps his nose pretty clean and only aids with the super-technical shit, in addition to being listed as the owner of Midnight Sun.

With cutesy looks between Rose and Emmett on top of Roaming Hands Esme, and the addition of Aro's normal flair, we spend the next two hours discussing a plan to stay on top of what I've dubbed as _Operation Nail the Swan_.

I crack myself the fuck up.

In the end, it's decided that Emmett will put her under electronic surveillance, which is some serious shit. He has access to every camera in the city along with his own unique toys that I can't even begin to understand. In addition, Aro will have one of his soldiers, James, tail her, which strangely gives me some peace of mind over her late walk home. And finally, Rose will keep a special eye on her at Midnight Sun.

At five in the morning, I'm finally seeing those motherfuckers out my door. My dad stops and grips my shoulder on his way by. "Ya seem a little out of sorts, son. What gives?"

"This just doesn't feel right. The information isn't adding up." I shake my head, thinking about all that I learned tonight.

"Well, you be sure and steer clear of this broad until we know more," he says, pinning me with his deadly stare.

"You know I don't toy with the help, pop," I reply on instinct, not missing the command in his voice.

"Just so we're clear." He squeezes tighter and releases me, stepping into Esme's waiting arms. I feel sorry for my brother having to ride with the two of them.

When the elevator finally closes, I sigh and lean back against the wall, my father's command echoing inside my mind. Too fucking late. The past thirty-six hours feel like they've lasted five long years.

* * *

 **This is Mobward's story, and I want him to tell it. It's my hope that I can pull this one off in all EPOV. We'll just have to see how that goes lol!**

 **See you tomorrow :)**


	3. Unique Relationships

**The last one beta'd by the lovely Ninkita, and just a note, she beta'd this last week when the extension was only 900ish words. Now it's 1400 lol, so all mistakes are mine! Some of it was pre-read by Mana Liz and Ceceprincess, and the rest was pre-read by 2browneyes.**

* * *

For the rest of the week, I go to the club and try to keep my eyes away from Bella, but no matter how fucking hard I try, the task seems impossible. On the first night after our fuck, I was simply walking to the VIP platform when I spotted her.

My traitorous feet stopped their movement, and my eyes scanned her form as she swayed to a beat I couldn't even hear. When she spun, though, horror flitted through me. Across the top of her back, the ultraviolet light highlighted an area of blue skin that was covered in scrapes. Wounds consistent with a good brick-wall fucking. Guilt gnawed at me, which only pissed me the fuck off.

She's infiltrated my life. Both at the club and when it comes to the Outfit. Because they're intertwined when it comes to her. Even if she isn't working for her dad, she knows who he is, and she knows who I am. Whatever game she's playing, it's a dangerous one.

Six days after _Operation Nail the Swan_ begins, Emmett and Jasper are waiting at the penthouse when I get home after an invigorating stalking session. Well, not stalking per se, but I _was_ caught up in her performance.

"Jasper, good to see you," I say as I take off my suit jacket and pour a drink. "I was surprised when you weren't here last week."

He chuckles. "You know Alice would have my hide if left her at two in the morning, unless it was an emergency."

I take a sip of my whiskey, savoring the warmth as it travels down my throat. "How is she?" I ask.

Jasper is my father's Consigliere. They grew up together, and he's been at my father's side since he took over the Outfit. He's like an uncle to me, and in fact, Emmett still refers to him as such. His wife, Alice, was right there beside them their whole fucking lives, until she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.

He sighs. "She has her good days and her bad ones," he says solemnly before his pain-filled eyes meet mine. "She's honestly just ready to stop hurting."

"Tell her I'll be by there soon," I reply, hating the thought of the feisty Alice I've always known in pain, but it's been that way for a long time now.

He nods. "Will do."

I take a seat on the sofa and place my drink on the coffee table. "Now let's get to business so Jasper can get back home. What ya got for me?" My eyes flick between the two of them.

Emmett clears his throat and pulls a laptop from beside him. Pushing his glasses into "serious business" position, his hands fly over the keys as I stay silent, mostly in awe at his technological skills.

When he's done, he flicks on the TV and hits a key on the laptop. A video appears on my sixty-inch screen. It's Bella and she's in the park, settled on a bench, reading a book. If it wasn't for my fetish when it comes to spying on her, I'd be bitching that he's bothering me with such inane bullshit, but for some fucked up reason, I can't get enough.

For eight fucking minutes I'm entranced as she occasionally crosses and uncrosses her legs while slowly flipping the pages of her book. In fact, I even get a little irritated when Emmett takes the initiative and fast forwards an extra five minutes.

"What the fuck you do that for?" I snap when he interferes with my ogling.

Emmett leans his head down and looks at me over the large, square rim of his black glasses. "Sorry, bro. It was just more of the same."

Jasper lets out an unexpected chuckle and my eyes snap to him. He shrugs. "What? You got a hard on for this broad or something?"

I huff. "This girl might be trying to take us down! It's my job to know her every goddamn move!"

Instead of agreeing, Jasper's eyes narrow as they scrutinize me. I hold his stare, intent on covering my ass. With a chuckle he slaps my shoulder and says, "Me thinks the boy doth protest too much." His tone is playful, but I still worry what he might share with my father.

"Play the goddamn video, Emmett," I snap, crossing my arms in a huff.

Emmett lets out a little squeak, but with a flick of his fingers, Bella's back on the screen. This time, though, I can already see the old, mustached fucker approaching. Special Agent Charlie Fucking Swan.

He sits, and she moves over to put a foot between them. I chuckle, ignoring the looks the two motherfuckers around me are giving each other. A sound crackles from the TV, and suddenly I can hear them speaking.

"Bella," Agent Swan says, his tone soft. "I know you're mad, honey, but you're being stupid."

"Stupid!" she yells, causing the people with kids in the background to cast her wary glances. She looks around and seems mortified, so she leans closer. "I'll tell you what's stupid. Stupid is leaving your family to chase someone else's. Stupid is thinking two cards a year will replace being a father. So trust me, my stupidity didn't fall far from the tree."

Agent Swan sighs, and I almost feel sorry for him, being on the other end of her wrath. "But, Bella, you're playing with your life. Edward Cullen is no good. What do you think working at his club is going to accomplish?"

"First," she says, holding up her fingers to tick off her points. "It's not _his_ club. Second, it's the highest paying job in the city for a dancer. And third, at least Edward Cullen never pretended to be something he's not."

Charlie's mustache twitches, and his face turns red. "How would you know anything about him?"

She actually smirks at the motherfucker, and I cringe, afraid of what might come out of her mouth. "Oh, I know all about Edward Cullen. He did more for me in ten minutes than you have my whole life."

He grabs her arm, and I tense. "You call allowing you to work in that filthy club doing something?"

She snatches her arm away and stands with a snort. "Oh, he worked me over all right."

"Now you listen to me, Isabella," Charlie yells, standing and shaking his finger, his whole head beet red. "You'll stay the fuck away from him, or I'll send you back to Phoenix."

She smiles and tilts her head like she pities him. "In case you missed it, Charlie, I'm a grown woman who can live where I please." With that she shoves her book in her bag and struts away.

The screen goes dark, and I just stare at it for several minutes, replaying the scene over and over in my mind. Not only did she stand up to him, but she even complimented me to spite him. This girl never fails to surprise me.

If I'm being honest, I haven't been able to get her out of my mind since I first saw her dance. Add in the fuck in the alley, and I'm way past gone. Suddenly, I have an urge to see her, speak with her, to learn what makes her fucking tick.

I grab my jacket and start for the elevator. "Whoa," Jasper calls, halting me. "Where's the fire?"

I scrub my hand through my hair in frustration, pausing only to say, "I need to see Bella."

"I think the Boss gave you an order," Jasper says tersely, and the insinuation is clear, causing me to spin and face him.

"This surveillance nullifies that fucking order. Now, see yourselves out," I snap, my gaze cold and uncaring as I stare him down.

He holds up his hands, and with one final glare, I enter the elevator.

After checking the club and realizing she's already gone, I hurry out to the sidewalk and start down the path she takes on her walk home. I figure I'll at least run into James, but I don't. Not even when I turn down the alley and see three figures at the other end.

I start running. An unusual feeling crashes through me, something unfamiliar. But soon, I realize what it is. Fear. I'm afraid something will happen before I can reach her. Half-way down the alley, I pull out my gun and pause to take aim, hoping I can scare them, if nothing else.

Just as I'm ready to pull the trigger, the small figure huddled against the wall strikes. Her leg kicks out, kneeing one of the shadows in the balls. The other shadow grabs her, but she sends her head flying back to smack him in the nose. I'm both impressed and irate.

I start running again.

When I finally reach her, she's standing over the guy holding his balls, kicking him over and over with her spiked heels. The second guy is nowhere to be found. Though watching her give him a beat down is making my cock swell, I'd rather get her away from here.

I reach my arm around her waist, pulling her back against my body. She leans down, ready to head-butt me, but I whisper, "Shh, Bella, it's me. I've got you."

"Edward?" Her body relaxes against me.

"Hey, hey. Turn around. Let me look at you," I soothe, checking her over. "Are you all right?"

Her eyes flick to the guy on the ground before coming back to me. "I think so. Knowing self-defense and using it are two different things."

I brush her hair from her eyes. "I get it. You're okay now. I'm here." I glance to the guy and rage builds inside. "Do you want me to clip him?"

She giggles this cute little giggle, like I'm joking, but I'm not. "I'm dead serious, Bella."

Her face sobers instantly. "No, Edward, please don't. Not on my account."

Hearing my name from her lips sends chills racing over my skin. "What about on the account that he'll probably do this again, and the next girl might not be as badass as you?"

Her brows pucker. "Do you really think he will?"

"Not a doubt in my mind," I say with a definitive nod.

She looks back at him with scorn. "Can we just go?"

"Sure," I reply, taking out my silenced Glock.

"Wai—"

She's too late. I aim and pull the trigger, hitting him in his side, making sure to miss all vital organs. She jumps, shrieking a little as her hands cover her mouth, her eyes wide on the ailing man. Slowly, they come back to me. I hold my breath and wait for her reaction, but she just steps closer to my side.

"Relax, Bella. He'll live," I assure her, holstering my gun. "I just don't want him to get away before they find him."

"Shooting someone is a crime," she retaliates, giving me the bitch brow.

I smirk. "I think we both know he'd be dead if I wasn't being considerate of your feelings," I say as I put my phone to my ear. Aro answers on the first ring. "Get the cops to the alley beside Bella's building."

"What we talking," he asks.

"Stalker with a gunshot wound," I say, then bark, "Inoltre, dire a James che sarà lui a rispondere a me presto," to let him know that James will answer to me for his fuck up tonight.

Pocketing my phone, I put my arm around Bella and start leading her away. "Um, Edward? I live back there." She tries to turn around, but I keep prodding her forward.

"We're going to my penthouse, if that's okay?" I say and wait for her to stop walking, but she doesn't.

She actually ducks her head like she's all shy and shit. "Sure."

I smirk to myself and keep on walking. By the time we've made it to my building, the silence between us is fucking with my head. Instead of feeling comfortable, it's anticipatory. It doesn't help that every time I remember who's with me and where we're going, my Armanis get a little fucking tighter.

Once we enter the elevator, I scan my fingerprint and key in the code for my garage. When we start moving down, Bella eyes me speculatively. I hold my palms up. "Just need to drop something off."

Her eyes narrow, but her lips tighten, saying nothing. By the time the doors open again, the atmosphere has shifted. The small steel box is overflowing with tension. Sexual tension. I'm actually relieved when I see Demetri waiting for me.

I step out and give him the Glock, but he leans over to look past me, at Bella, who's still in the elevator. Returning his eyes to mine, a spark of mirth shines in them. I brush my hand through my hair and shake my head.

"Don't," I say.

He tightens his lips to hold in whatever the fuck he's thinking, and takes the Glock, stepping back with the closest thing to a smirk I've ever seen from him. My eyes narrow before I step into the elevator and scan my print, this time going up.

All the way up.

Bella's leaning against the back wall, her body tense, her goddamn legs stretched out long and fucking enticing. "I don't know why you were in the alley, but thank you for being there."

As much as I'd like to be the good guy, I'm not. In one move, I'm standing before her, my hands settled on her waist. "I was looking for you," I say, and my voice sounds all strained and desperate. I clear my throat and try again. "I am sorry for shooting that guy in front of you, though."

Her hands land on my forearms and slide against my skin, causing my heart to thump in my goddamn chest. "Edward," she says, all breathy and shit, and my cock throbs. "I think we both know you're not the superhero."

And that's fucking it. That's all I can take. My hands run up her sides, skimming her tits and landing on the wall to box her in as my lips descend. What's so fucking insane, though, is she's just as desperate. Her hands fist my hair as we meet in a clash of lips and skin.

Shit gets out of hand real fucking quick.

Before I know it, she's pinned against the wall, her fucking glorious legs wrapped around my waist, and the buttons of her shirt are scattered across the elevator floor. I snatch my lips away, hoping to slow things down, but those goddamn tits are on full display and I can't resist. When my lips close over her covered nipple and blow, her head thumps back against the wall with a whimper.

The haze of lust that's exploded between us lifts slightly when the elevator dings, signaling we've arrived at the penthouse. I can't decide if that's a good thing or not. But all too soon, it becomes glaringly clear.

The staccato of a slow clap sounds from behind me, and Bella's eyes widen while my head falls to her shoulder. "Qualcuno sta per morire," I grit through clenched teeth, threatening the life of whoever is stupid enough to be in the penthouse.

I lift my head and meet her eyes. "Mi dispiace, la mia Bella." I assist her in regaining her footing.

She cups my cheek, her dark eyes soft. "I'm not sure what you're saying, but don't ever stop."

I can't help it. I lean down and press my lips to hers one more time before straightening and pulling her shirt closed. "I said I'm sorry." I nod toward the penthouse. "This fucker obviously has no decorum."

Her fingers walk up my chest and she leans closer, speaking quietly. "Let's just go see what they want so they'll hurry up and leave."

My brows rise, her words heading straight to my still-bulging cock. "Fuck, yeah."

I drape my jacket over her shoulders before taking her hand and turning to step out of the elevator. But we're only a few paces into the penthouse when we both freeze. I reach for my Glock, but then I remember I gave it to Demetri.

Two rigid men sit on my couch.

The Boss of the Chicago Outfit has a salacious smirk as his eyes pass over Bella, while Special Agent Swan levels me with a heated glare.

I tense and pull her close to my side.

"Sit down, kids. We need to talk."

When the Boss uses that tone of voice, I know to shut the fuck up and listen, but apparently, Bella has no goddamn idea the kind of danger she's in.

She props her hand on her hip and narrows her eyes at her own father. "What the fuck is going on here?"

"Sit down, Isabella, and I may be inclined to answer your questions. Otherwise, you can get the fuck out," Carlisle says, his voice slicing through the air with an icy chill.

My father can have fun with the best of them, but when it comes to family business, he's just that. All fucking business. And while I have no clue how Bella and I fucking has anything to do with family business, this goddamn impromptu meeting tells me it does.

Agent Swan starts to stand, but Carlisle grabs his arm, keeping him on the sofa. "She's a grown woman, Charlie, you have to quit coddling her." Though he's speaking to Charlie,his eyes are pinned on Bella, challenging her.

She doesn't fucking disappoint either. "Charlie?" she repeats sarcastically, her eyes scorching her father where he sits. She scoffs. "This ought to be fun." Without further prompting, she struts forward and sits on the large square ottoman that matches my sofa.

I'm left in the doorway fucking stunned at her balls—or maybe it's stupidity—but either way, it affects me in ways that it shouldn't. I shake my head and chuckle under my breath as I start across the room to join the unlikely threesome.

The Boss catches my eye, and I lift a daring brow. Not only did his little meeting put a stop to a fuck hot make-out session that was sure to lead to sex, but he's sitting in my penthouse with a fucking Fed.

"Che cosa è con il cazzo di Fed?" I ask, for clarification, as I take a seat on the other section of the sofa, closer to where Bella is perched.

Her eyes slide surreptitiously to mine, and the small quirk at the corner of her lips as she focuses back on the two intruders reminds me how much she likes it when I speak Italian. I separate that glorious fact into its own secluded memory and file it away in a special part of my brain.

"Non si può nascondere le tue parole," Agent Swan responds in perfect fucking Italian, punctuating it with a glare to let me know that I can't hide my words.

Instead of letting him get to me, I smirk and swap to French to ask the asshole if he can understand me now. "Non? Qu'en est-il à présent, connard?"

I don't miss Bella's breathy exhale or the way her already crossed thighs clench, and I fucking smirk even more, while keeping my stare on Agent Swan. His eyes narrow and flit to his daughter before coming back to me as a deep shade of red travels up his neck and covers his face.

My pops chuckles and leans forward, placing his scotch on the coffee table, rather roughly, in an attempt to break the current stare-down. When that obviously doesn't work, he clears his throat. "Edward," he says in a stern voice. "Charlie is a visitor in your home."

I snort because it not like I let the motherfucker in, and cut my eyes to him. "Just get to the fucking point," I growl, sick of whatever game my father is trying to play.

Instead of a rebuke, like I expect, he just throws his head back and laughs. "I'm sorry, son, did we interrupt something?"

I keep it cool, giving him a casual shrug. "So what if you did?"

He smirks at me before cutting his eyes to Bella and running them slowly up her body. I grip the edge of the sofa, ready to rip out chunks and throw them at his head. By the time he focuses back on me, every muscle in my body is tensed and ready to fucking pounce. But when I see his satisfied smirk, I realize he's intentionally goading me. My muscles relax but only slightly.

"Look," Bella breaks in, capturing the eyes of every male present. "I don't know what the fuck's going on here, but somebody needs to start explaining." Her gaze skims over each one of us before narrowing in on her father, but he looks to his lap, avoiding her stare.

"Allow me," Carlisle speaks up, leaning forward and grasping her hand. "My name is Carlisle Cullen, and you and my son have crossed an invisible line." He picks up his scotch and swirls the glass in his hand as he leans back and settles into the plush leather. "You see, Charlie and I have a unique relationship. So unique, in fact, that only he, Jasper and I know about it."

"The fuck are you talking about?" I demand, standing swiftly and motioning between the two traitorous men. "You don't have _unique_ _relationships_ that I'm unaware of."

"Sit the fuck down," Carlisle says, his voice deadly, and I comply because the alternative wouldn't be pretty. "On the contrary Edward, this particular relationship has been passed through three generations. You would've been brought into the fold"—his lip curls—"eventually."

Bella's eyes haven't moved from Agent Swan, but he's yet to meet her glare. She crosses her arms and lifts her chin, cocking her head at my father. "I'm not quite sure I understand where Edward and I fit into this equation, Mr. Cullen." She gives him a sweet smile—too goddamn sweet.

The Boss isn't a fucking fool, though. He has her pegged and returns her fake pleasantries with his own. "Miss Swan"—he gives her a wide, toothy grin—"let me be frank. You fucking my son brings the wrong kind of attention to that relationship I mentioned, since you're, ya know, our kids and all." He holds his phony smile and even bats his fucking eyes all innocently and shit.

Meanwhile, my mind replays his words. "Wait just a goddamn minute," I say, horrified by this obscure underworld connection that's suddenly an obstacle between me and my next chance to nail the Swan.

But I don't even get to say more because Bella pushes my jacket from her shoulders and stands, gripping the front of her shirt closed. "Oh, well why didn't you just say so? I have no interest in getting mixed up in any kind of business that includes the Cullens and my not-so-by-the-book father," she sneers, narrowing her eyes at Charlie.

My father barks a laugh, and while she's amusing him now, I'm not sure how long that'll fucking last. I grab her free hand to try and draw her attention to me, and it works. For just one goddamn second as our skin meets, her whole stance softens.

It doesn't last long, though. As soon as Pop's laughter fades, his eyes zero in on our hands. "Don't get attached, sweetheart. I said it's over."

"Or what?" I challenge without thinking the shit through very well.

In one smooth, elegant move, he's lifted his Ruger and has it pointed at Bella's head. "Do you really want to find out, son?"

Very carefully, so as not to startle him, I reach forward with my free hand to grab the barrel, aiming it at myself instead. "This is on me, Boss."

After several tense seconds, because goddamn, even I don't know what to expect, he gives a satisfactory smirk and lowers the weapon.

Bella immediately snatches her hand from mine and swiftly moves past me, pausing only to glance back and shrug. "We were just having a good time, but no fuck's worth my life"—she cuts her dark, seductive eyes to me—"no matter how good."

She turns, and I'm mesmerized by her ass in that skin-tight skirt as it sways across the room. By the time I realize where she's going, the elevator's already sounding with a ding. I jump up and run like hell to catch her, not even caring that my father could shoot me in the ass, but I'm too fucking late. The doors close slowly, concealing her form, inch by inch.

"Goddammit!" My hand smacks against the reinforced steel before clenching into a fist and pounding on it several times.

What started as confusion has now turned into anger, but misdirecting it could cost me more than a night with Bella. I take a few deep, even breaths to beat the monster back before turning and stalking toward the two men who owe me some goddamn answers.

* * *

 **Hope that eased the pain of the nasty cliffy from the contest, while keeping you wanting more, more, more! My fingers are itching to type this, but I can't do it at the expense of my current WIP. It's** _ **very**_ **close to the end, though, and my normal readers know I won't keep you hanging. I'll just have to write faster.**

 **Give me a couple weeks and I can probably get another done to help tide you over until I can commit to it completely, then we'll go weekly.**

 **Thank you so much for joining me and Mobward on this journey :)**


	4. Game On, M-th-rf-ck-r

**Fabulous Fran is back to beta the rest, but remember, I'm a tweaker (someties big, sometimes small), so all mistakes are mine. 2browneyes and Ninkita are pre-reading, and a special shout out to Sunshine for soothing my worries on this chapter.**

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My steps are measured as I stalk into the living room, making sure to appear calm and composed, even though my blood is thundering in my ears and my right eye is fucking twitching. I walk to where Bella dropped my suit jacket and bend to lift it from my antique Persian rug. Draping it over the arm of the sofa, I ignore the eyes on me as I move toward the bar. The two men are silent; Charlie with a glare and my father with a fucking amused twinkle that only serves to further incite my anger.

Instead of reaching for my usual Glenfiddich, I opt for something stronger. Spirytus Delikatesowy is a cheap Polish vodka, but it's 180 proof, and I need to take the edge off before the monster escapes. I pour myself a generous amount and prop my hip against the bar. I swig my drink and return my glare to the two figures lounging on my sofa.

Digging my Emmett-enhanced-iPhone from my pocket, I press Aro's speed dial. "Boss," he answers on the first ring. "What can I do ya?"

"Bella just left my penthouse headed home," I say in a low but commanding voice. "She had better arrive safely."

"Bu—"

I swipe end and slip the phone back into my pocket, taking another sip of the harsh vodka. Once I've downed half the glass, my blood is warm, and my anger has cooled—minutely—but it's progress. Now I need answers, and it's up to the two motherfuckers across the room to give them to me. I throw the glass back and pour the remaining liquid down my throat.

This time, when I take a seat, I'm careful to select just the right location. The leather groans quietly as I sink into the chair, and a sense of satisfaction moves through me as I eye the small, cherry end table that's just within reach.

I pin my father, who sure has been a patient fucker by the way, with a hard stare. "I need all the details of this arrangement." I wave my hand between the two of them. "Especially since it's interfering with my"—I pause to consider my next words—"extracurricular activities."

"You pathetic piece of shit," Charlie says, snapping his angry eyes to mine. "My daughter is better than that! She deserves respect. Not to be used and discarded by some hothead, murdering criminal."

I fucking snort and look around to make sure he's talking to me because that's not the Bella I know—not that I do know her, but from the sound of it, neither does he. She's independent, feisty, sexy—way too goddamn sexy—and knows what the fuck she wants.

"I don't think you know her at all, Agent. She's had no problem putting me in my place, and she's woman enough to know what she wants. It's not like I've deceived her or anything." I smirk to rub that shit in because he sure the fuck has. "We're two single, young, sexual bein—"

Agent Swan lunges, and the only thing that stops him from reaching me is my father. The Boss grabs him by the shoulders and slams him back against the couch. "Careful, Charlie," he says, his voice a warning. "This is a discussion, remember?"

Charlie snatches Carlisle's hand away and scoots from his reach, which is impressive because those types of antics are usually only acceptable from me. "And he was talking about _my_ daughter!" he growls, meeting my father's heated stare.

 _Interesting._

Pop settles back against the sofa, assured the situation is under control, and does a little head tilt toward the ottoman where Bella was seated earlier. "Charlie, I hate to say it, but that broad wasn't forced to be here earlier, and she sure as hell wasn't a shrinking violet either. That girl has balls."

"She has no idea what's she's getting into," Agent Swan snaps, leveling Pop with a hard stare. "She's lashing out because she's angry at me."

"Hold the fuck up," I say, motioning with my hands to break up their little debate, because it doesn't matter, none of it matters. These two idiots have already run her off and cockblocked the fuck out of us. "Bella's a big girl who doesn't need any of us trying to control her life. What I want to know is what the fuck's going on between you two that takes precedence over our carnal needs."

A growl rumbles in Charlie's chest, and my father hisses, "Edward."

"What?" I shrug. "We're fucking grown. We don't need permission."

"Son," he says with a sigh. "Please, have a little respect for Charlie. How would you like to hear someone saying they want to fuck your daughter?"

My body recoils on instinct and sinks deeper into the soft leather beneath me, the thought echoing through my brain. What the fuck? I've never even considered children, and now he wants me to think about them fucking?

"Non me ne frega un cazzo," I say with a casual shrug, knowing I'm lying through my goddamn teeth. I only don't give a flying fuck because it's someone else's daughter, and it's me that wants to fuck her.

"Col cazzo chi!" Pops says (my ass) with a snort, and he's right.

I'd kill a motherfucker over the family I have now, and I'm sure I'll be even worse with a family of my own. But then I allow that thought to sink deeper, to imagine that I'll actually have a wife and kids one day. An image of a dark-haired little girl floats through my mind, and it freaks me the fuck out.

"No need to be sarcastic, Boss. I get the point," I concede, just to get off that fucking subject, and shift my eyes between the two men. "So let's get this shit over with. Tell me about this unique relationship."

"Ahh," Carlisle breathes, and he has a wistful smile as he stares off into nothing for a moment. "I fondly remember the day my father shared the story with me. Like you, Edward, I had no idea. No one but the Boss should know this tightly held secret." He leans forward like he's going to share something very crucial. "It's been the secret of my success."

With a proud flourish, he grabs his whiskey and sits back, looking completely satisfied with himself. My brows furrow as I shift my eyes to Charlie, who just shakes his head with a little chuckle. _Fucking face palm_. I stretch my leg out and nudge Pop's foot, bringing him back to the present.

"You were saying?" I prod, completely ignoring the fact that he took a visit to La La Land.

"Oh, yes!" He sits up straighter and excitedly takes a sip of his whiskey. "The year was 1938, and your great-grandfather, Tony, was the Boss of the Outfit. Now, he hadn't been in charge long as his father was assassinated only a couple years earlier. But by this point, Prohibition was over, and the Outfit was expanding its enterprises."

I nod along because our history is something I'm familiar with. Anthony Cullen was an efficient and fucking ruthless Boss. The Outfit prospered greatly under his long-standing rule, only to falter in '76 when my grandfather, Samuel, took over after Tony's death from natural causes.

My grandfather was a disappointment unlike no other. The Outfit almost crumbled during his short, nine-year rule. He finally killed himself is early '85 after a local gang murdered my grandmother for revenge against him. At this point, my pop was only twenty-six, but he stepped the fuck up. He chose a wife and took over the family, producing two male heirs, and moving the business into the twenty-first century.

"What nobody knew, though," my father continues, breaking me from my thoughts, "is that by this time, a Chicago P.D. officer had infiltrated the Outfit, even making it so far as to being inducted. Chester Swan had been working the case for eight years already, proving himself and moving up in the ranks. He'd already been made a Capo before Tony's father died."

My brows climb up my goddamn forehead. This is some serious shit. The fact that it's not a known story tells me that something happened. Something big, because the only cop I've ever heard of infiltrating the organization was a Fed named Ernesto Branzo who entered under my grandfather's rule. In '87, my pops discovered his deceit and made an example out of him. He was tortured, cut up into tiny fucking pieces and dropped to the bottom of Lake Michigan. Only his lips were held back, and they were delivered to the local office anonymously.

"Now here's the kicker." Carlisle sits up straighter and swirls his glass, watching the amber liquid as it rolls around the edges. "All this time, Chester had a family on the other side of town. He'd sneak and visit when he could but kept them hidden from the Outfit."

I shake my head. "There's no way that shit could happen now. There were times when everything you ever wanted to know wasn't at your fingertips. Shit, Boss, can you imagine?"

The Boss' eyes sharpen for the first time since he started this little tale, and they zero in on me like frozen shards of ice. "Yes, Edward, I can imagine it. I fucking lived it. I ran this organization from rotary phones to cordless, to cells and everything that came after." His voice softens now, but only a little. "The question is, son, will _you_ be able to keep up as the advances continue coming?"

I scoff and wave that shit off like it's nothing. "With Emmett by my side, we'll be the ones making the advances."

"But that's where you're wrong," Carlisle says as he leans forward and places his glass on the coffee table. "Emmett isn't one of us. He may want something different one day. Something that takes him away from here."

"That's not what we're discussing," I say, shaking my head defiantly, and waving between Agent Swan and my father. "Back to the story at hand."

Though Emmett isn't one of us, he stays close and helps me, probably more than he fucking should. I'm willing to admit that it's wrong of me to expect it, but I like things just how they are. Aside from Pop and Jasper, there's no one I trust more than my little brother.

The Boss stares at me hard for a second before giving up and leaning back in his seat with a huff. "Kids these days."

"Tell me about it," Charlie chimes in, crossing his arms over his chest. "They think they know everything."

Carlisle throws his head back and laughs. "Don't I know it." He taps Charlie's arm. "They don't know anything about hard work. They've never had to do any legwork for anything. All they do these days is depend on those damn computers."

"I'm telling ya," Charlie agrees, nodding away. "Those younger agents, they think the answer to every crime can be found in cyberspace. Forget the ground work." He waves his hand. "Last week—"

"Pardon me for interrupting," I say loudly, leaning forward and motioning to get their attention. "But weren't we in the middle of something? An important, fucking discussion maybe? Because if not, I can still salvage my night with Bella."

Charlie Swan leans forward, pointing his meaty finger toward my face. "Don't you even speak her goddamn name!"

"How about I make her scream my name instead?" I offer as a compromise, already expecting his overreaction.

When he jumps from his seat, I stand and tower over him. "Don't fuck with me, Agent," I snarl, anger over my ruined night making a grand fucking comeback.

"All right," Carlisle says, standing and pushing us each back in our own direction. "That's enough, Edward," he warns, pointing to my seat.

"Non mi rompere il cazzo," I mumble as I take my seat, telling him to quit busting my chops.

"Never," he responds with a chuckle and turns to Agent Swan. "Charlie, you gotta quit letting him bait ya."

Agent Swan flops back onto my eight-thousand-dollar sofa and sighs. "Fine. Let's get this over with."

The Boss smiles widely and retakes his seat, all happy again and shit. I just shake my head because what the fuck else can I do? Pop may be a little eccentric at times, but make no mistake; he's still as sharp as a tack and has a radar as keen as anyone I know.

"Now where was I," he says, and I can see him shifting through the memories. Or at least as he perceives them in his mind. "Ahh, the kidnapping. Turns out, another member of the Outfit was jealous of Chester's ambitions and put a tail on him. When Alberto discovered Chester had a family, instead of going to Tony, he decided to make his own move. He kidnapped the wife and two kids, hoping to use them as leverage to blackmail Chester into leaving the Outfit. Of course, Chester had the Chicago P.D. behind him, but he found himself in between a rock and a hard place."

I nod along, catching my father's drift. He couldn't necessarily go the Boss since he'd hidden them this whole time, and working with the P.D. was dangerous since he was deep undercover and had already been tailed once. But this was his family, and I imagine, his top priority. Case be damned.

"So what'd he end up doing?" I ask, pretty fucking curious at this point.

"He grew some fucking balls," Pop says, lifting two cigars from his inside pocket and offering one to Agent Swan before placing the other between his lips. "He went to Tony and laid it all on the table." He pauses as Charlie takes out a Zippo and lights them both, and while I internally cringe as the smoke rises into my living room, I don't say shit. "He pleaded for his family's life, as Tony had the power to save them, and confessed his whole operation."

"Holy shit," I say, leaning forward and propping my elbows on my knees. "You mean this cop went to Tony and told him he was undercover?"

"Yep." The Boss smirks. "Like I said, huge balls. Instead of killing him on the spot, Tony listened and they came up with an arrangement. In exchange for saving his family, and allowing Chester to kill Alberto personally, they agreed that he'd leave the Outfit, using the kidnapping as his excuse, and return to law enforcement."

"What's the catch?" I ask, because there's sure as hell more to the story than that. It's eighty years later, and the families are still in business, judging by the closeness of the two men who're now sitting before me.

"From that point forward, Chester made sure Tony was in the know about anything pertinent to the Outfit, and what's more, when someone in the Outfit fucked up, Chester was made aware, and they were nabbed. After he died, the very son Tony saved, Carter, stepped in, only he aimed higher. He was a Federal agent." Carlisle cuts his eyes to Agent Swan and lifts a brow.

"That was my father," Charlie adds, giving Pop the stink eye. "I wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for your family, and I pay my debts."

The Boss chuckles fondly, nudging him on the arm. "Oh, come on, Charlie. We both know it's more than that." He cuts his eyes back to me. "We're friends. Have been all our lives. It was no secret my father was a scatterbrained nincompoop, so my grandfather cultivated mine and Charlie's relationship as much as possible while he was still alive, even made sure we were sent away to the same boarding school as boys. Me under an alias of course."

"So you're a dirty cop," I surmise, smirking at Agent Swan. "In the pocket of the criminals."

"Not at all," he replies, delivering his own smirk. "I do my job and arrest criminals. I keep Carlisle abreast of investigations that may affect him, and he occasionally sends a criminal my way. I don't cover up things for your organization, nor do I answer to you. I simply show my gratitude by keeping my friend informed when necessary."

"Huh." I sit back, scratching my brow as I consider this relationship. "So Bella and me fucking interferes with this, how?"

Charlie's smirk falls as the red creeps over his face. "Don't say her name!" he says, each word distinct.

I stand and start pacing, the whole scenario now becoming clear. "Actually," I start, my gaze flicking between the two men, "the next generation to this twisted little game is Bella and me. So what gives? Why such a show of force to separate us?"

Pop's eyes land on Agent Swan before he sighs. "Sit down, son." I comply, but in doing so, I expect a goddamn answer. "It does look bad for the agent in charge of the Organized Crime Division's daughter to be associated with Cullen, but it's more than that." He drops his cigar into his whiskey glass, much to my fucking chagrin, and sits forward. "When Charlie realized, many years ago, that Bella would be his only child, he made a decision, and I agreed. As long as he lives, our deal still stands. But it ends with him. When Renee left him, he let Bella go to keep her safe, away from his life as an agent and away from us. He's kept her at arm's length all these years, so she'd never know this part of his life. He never expected her to show up here."

I brush my hands over my face and up through my hair as I think this fucking shit over. The relationship with Charlie means shit to me; I have my own cops in the know. But the one with my Boss does, and apparently, he gives a fuck about how this plays out ... but to what extent, I wonder.

Slipping my hand under the edge of the cherry end table, I relish in the weight of power as my fingers close around the handle. "So while you're still alive, this arrangement is ongoing?" I ask, lifting my hand to aim my compact, but powerful, Rohrbaugh R9 Stealth Elite right between his eyes. "Because I can end that shit right now."

"Edward," the Boss warns, eyeing the Ruger he laid on the end table earlier. "Don't do something stupid."

I lift a daring brow. "The way I see it, if Charlie's dead, the arrangement is over, and Bella's free to make her own decisions."

"You're not going to do this, son," Carlisle states clearly and concisely. "Think of how Bella would feel if you killed her father." When my eyes jump to his, he smirks, and in my moment of hesitance, the agent has his own gun aimed at my fucking head.

"Even as a boy, you could never follow the rules—" Charlie's jaw snaps shut and his eyes cut to my father, where they share a tense look, before zeroing back in on me. "Here's the deal, _son_ ," he says snidely, and my finger tightens on the trigger. "I tried taking the reasonable route, but it looks like that's not going to work, so this is what's going to happen. If I catch you with my daughter again I. Will. End. You."

I can't fucking help it, I burst out laughing. Special Agent Charlie Fucking Swan is in my penthouse, brought in by my own fucking father, and is threatening me. But when I realize that same father is simply staring, waiting for my reply, the laughter dies.

"Are you fucking serious right now?" I ask my pop with wide eyes, my aim as steady as ever. "You gonna let him threaten me in my own home?"

The Boss sighs and waves his hand between Charlie and me, as if the stand-off means nothing to him. "Son, I hoped it would never come to this. But leave it to you to pull this kind of stunt."

My eyes widen to the size of goddamn saucers. "Pull this kind of stunt?" I repeat incredulously. "Did you forget you had a gun aimed at Bella's head not even one fucking hour ago, Boss?"

He shakes his head. "I was trying to prevent this very situation. Why is this so important to you? You planning on marrying this broad or something? There's pussy everywhere." His arms go up in exasperation.

"Fuck no, I'm not marrying her," I respond, just the idea freaking me the fuck out, but still, I didn't even get a chance to get to know her.

Pop leans forward and points his finger at me. "Look, Edward, I'm done here. Charlie knows the consequences of his actions, and now you do, too. He left her to keep her away from this life, and I hope you'll honor that."

Un-fucking-believable.

I grip the R9 even tighter and set my laser stare back on the fuckwit who thinks it's okay to come into my home and point a gun at me. "Get the fuck out," I grit very slowly. "Get the fuck out of my house, and don't ever let me see you again."

Pop stands and grabs his Ruger, holstering it inside his suit jacket. "Come on, Charlie. Let's leave him to stew over all that he's learned tonight."

Agent Swan lifts a brow in my direction before standing. "The only reason you'll have to ever see me again is if I'm there to put a bullet between your eyes."

Never lowering my arm, I keep him in my sights as he and my pop make their way to the elevator, with seemingly not a care in the world. But he better fucking care, because I won't let this shit slide.

Once the doors have closed, I smirk and lower my weapon.

"Game on, motherfucker."

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 ****Another Mobward fact—he's not looking for redemption.**

 **We're going every other Friday with this one, for porobably 3 to 4 chapters, then we should move to weekly. I'll keep you informed!**

 **See ya in two weeks :)**


	5. Even More Pathetic

**Fran is the super awesome beta babe, and thanks to 2browneyes and Ninkita who pre-read for me!**

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 ****I'm going to insert a "Gore Rating" from here out in honor of my longtime pre-reader Judyblue. So I'll give each chapter a 1-10 rating at the beginning. As an example, Jacob's death would be like an 8. Just a heads up kinda thing.**

 **Gore Rating—2**

 *****Make sure you didn't miss last chapter due to alert failure!**

I flip the last of the blueberry pancakes and move to take the bacon from the frying pan, placing it on the rack to drain. "How do you want your eggs?" I ask over my shoulder.

"Eh, scrambled is fine," Emmett replies as he sits at my Statuario marble island, sipping orange juice.

The soothing sound of Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 21 in C major filters through the surround sound as I work to finish up breakfast, scrambling eggs and taking the pancakes from the griddle. When everything's ready, I arrange the food on a platter and pour the warmed maple syrup into the small pitcher-like dispenser.

"Here we are." I smile as I lay the platter on the bar top.

Emmett's baby blues peer at me over the glasses that are perched half-way down his nose. "Who are you, and where's my brother?"

I chuckle as I grab two plates and our eating utensils, placing one in front of him and keeping the other for myself. "You know I like to fucking cook."

He smiles then, the first real smile I've seen this morning. "There he is."

I roll my fucking eyes, but he's right. Ever since my talk with Charlie and Pop the night before last, I've felt off fucking kilter—like torn and shit. On the one hand, Charlie's stance is goading me into challenging him; I burn to show him who the fuck is running this show. But then I think of Bella, goddamn sexy as fuck Bella, who doesn't deserve me using her as a tool to piss off her dad.

If only he'd kept his fucking nose out of our business, we could've had our fun, gotten it out of our systems and moved the hell on. And yeah, I'm dying to finish what we started in the elevator, but the whole shit is complicated now—more complicated than it ever needed to be.

"Hey," Emmett says, waving his fork in front of my face. "You gonna eat that bacon?" He points to the pieces that are still on the platter, because my dumb ass got lost in thought and only put two pancakes on my plate.

I wave it away. "Go ahead. This is good enough for me." Lifting the syrup, I soak the blueberry goodness.

"So," he starts as he spears the remaining slices of bacon, transferring them to his plate. "What's up? You need something?"

I ignore his question for a second, chewing my food slowly and mentally assessing the buttery, fluffiness of the blueberry pancake. Finally, I say, "Yeah, I think I do."

Emmett's fork clatters to his plate, but I fucking ignore him and shovel more pancake into my mouth. "What the fuck, dude? When have you ever stopped to think about anything?"

"Har, har," I say sarcastically, after I've choked down my food. Reaching for my milk, I very nonchalantly say, "Can you get cameras covering Bella's alley?" There, I said it. Not with as much finesse as I'd have fucking liked, but it's done ... out there.

Emmett shrugs like it's no big deal. And I guess it isn't. It's only that way in my head since the _My Two Dads_ reunion was all secret and shit. "Sure. It might take me a couple days, but it'll be no problem. You interested in the new footage?"

The milk that was passing through my esophagus takes a little fucking jolt, and I'm suddenly coughing and sputtering. "There's new footage?" I choke out, my heart thumping at the goddamn prospect.

What the actual fuck?

"Sure." Emmett shrugs and narrows his eyes. "Why wouldn't there be? I've been casing her for over a week."

I school my expression and stand to take my plate to the sink. "You done with that?" I tilt my head to his own, licked-clean plate. At his nod, I grab it up, too. "There's just been a lot of shit going on, and I guess I forgot."

I head to the sink and rinse our dinnerware before stacking it neatly into my Miele Professional stainless dishwasher. Then I get to work on the cooking utensils. I stay silent as I rinse and load each item, using the time to decide how I'm going to keep Emmett quiet when it comes to the Boss. Technically, Emmett answers to no-fucking-body, but he also sure as fuck doesn't hide shit either.

And I need my continuing-to-monitor-Bella action just that—fucking hidden.

With the dishwasher loaded, I start wiping down the marble countertops. It isn't until I'm done with everything else that I finally move back to the island, where Emmett is seated, patiently watching my every goddamn move through the wide, square rims of his glasses.

"What?" I ask as I retake my seat a couple stools away from him.

He smirks, which is an unusual look on Emmett, and tilts his head to the bag he left sitting on the sofa when he arrived. "Why don't you just check out what I got for ya, and then we'll talk."

I shrug all casual and shit, but really, I'm fucking dying to lay eyes on Bella again, even if it is just to watch her sit on a park bench. "Sure."

A little chuckle escapes Emmett as he gets up and trails over, grabbing his bag and taking a seat on the sofa before looking at me like I'm a goddamn idiot. Which, I guess I might be, still sitting on the barstool like I don't have a fucking clue.

I stand and straighten my Sferra Holden Cashmere Robe, readjusting the front and tightening the belt, so the holy grail is kept neatly tucked in, and go over to take a seat beside him. "It's only been two days since the last report," I say, tilting my head toward the laptop he's holding. "Anything new?"

His fingers fly over the keys, cueing up an audio recording. "This is from her phone. It was yesterday before work."

"Her phone?" I ask, my brows hiked so fucking high, I can feel the collection of wrinkles running into my hairline. "How the fuck—" I could give a shit less as soon as her voice sounds from the speakers.

" _I don't know, Tan, it's obviously not worth it. I mean, he's hot as fuck, but you should've seen our fathers all disapproving. Who knew that my dad, who's supposedly spent his whole life chasing criminals, was in cahoots with the Cullens."_ She sighs _. "You hear that? The fucking Cullens!"_ She growls into the line, and my cock fucking twitches to life beneath my flimsy robe.

" _So, like, what? They just want you to stay away from each other?"_ her friend Tan, I assume, asks _._

" _More like threatened my life,"_ she snarks, obviously not happy with the show our fathers put on for us.

" _And your dad didn't say anything when Mr. Cullen pulled a gun on you?"_

" _Not a fucking word,"_ she says snidely _. "He just sat there being a good little puppy while Mr. Cullen did all the talking."_ She pauses, and it sounds like she's taking a sip of a drink. _"You know, I don't even know why I care, anyway. It's not like I was dating the guy, or even would. Edward Cullen was just an itch I was hoping to scratch one more time."_

The next time her friend speaks, her voice is low and flirty. _"Was it that good?"_

My ears perk up and tune in so closely to the laptop speakers that I don't even realize I've leaned forward, almost doubling the fuck over.

" _Hmm,"_ Bella hums, and takes a deep breath, ready to say more, but a goddamn dinging in the background makes her pause.

My hands tighten into fists in both frustration and fucking anticipation.

After a too-goddamn-long pause, she finally speaks _. "Sorry, Tanya, Seth's here. I gotta go."_

The sound goes silent, and I'm left staring at the little machine, ready to sling it across the fucking room. I forget about the information she just shared with, not only her friend, but also Emmett, and just focus on the fact that some fucker named Seth interrupted her in the goddamn middle of something hugely fucking important to me.

"I want to know who the fuck Seth is," I growl, standing to pace because I'm too fucking incensed to do anything else.

But Emmett's always one step ahead. His fingers fly over the keys before turning the screen where there's a profile already awaiting my perusal. I huff and sit, pulling the laptop over to rest on my knees.

"Thanks, bro." Sometimes I don't give Emmett enough credit. He knows me so fucking well and goes above and beyond what he should be doing to make sure I have whatever I need. I can't fucking imagine not having him by my side.

"Eh, I knew you'd want it," he says with a shrug. "But you know you owe me an explanation, right?"

I sigh as I read over the material, ignoring Emmett's last statement, because yeah, I do fucking owe him an explanation. I just have to make it good enough that he'll keep quiet about my Bella-stalking tendencies.

Seth Clearwater is a twenty-three-year-old student at The Art Institute of Chicago who lives three floors below Bella. As far as I can tell, he's a straight-laced kid with no criminal record and a well-off family—the fucker isn't half-bad looking either.

I shove the stupid fucking laptop back in Emmett's direction. "That's all you got on this punk?"

Emmett tilts his head down and looks at me over his glasses. "He's squeaky clean, Edward. But you should know better than to even ask."

"Sorry, bro. Fuck!" I run my hands through my hair in agitation. "Is there anything else?"

Emmett smiles his wide-boyish smile. "There is, but first you need to tell me what happened with Pop. And am I interpreting it right when I suggest it involved Agent Swan, too?"

"Yeah, you could say that," I say with a heavy sigh. I tell him the whole sordid fucking tale, leaving no detail unspoken. If I'm going to ask that he keep my secrets, the least I can fucking do is make sure he knows everything.

"Holy shit," he says when I'm done. "So Agent Swan threatened your life, and Pop just sat there and watched."

I snort. "Pretty fucking much."

"What are you doing, Edward?" he asks quietly as he flicks more keys on the laptop. "Sure, Bella's hot, but is she really that important?"

As I cross my legs, my knee peeks out between the split in my robe. "No, she's not, but I'm not quite sure I'm ready to be done either. Look, there's just unfinished business there, and I might want to fucking finish it."

Emmett shrugs. "Okay, then. This gig is for you anyway, not Pop. Your secret is safe with me, but you'd better not end up dead." He points his thin finger at me in admonishment before picking up the remote and switching on the TV.

I scoff. "Like that fuckwit has the balls to come after me."

Emmett tosses the remote on the coffee table. "Just be careful, brother."

I don't even make an attempt to respond as the video fills the screen. It's Bella—and I mean holy fuck, it's Bella in all her goddamn seductive glory onstage at Midnight Sun. In the three days since I've seen her there, I'd almost—almost—forgotten just how fucking good she is.

Her sinuous body flexes and sways, slithering around the prop with the ease of a snake, boneless and hypnotizing—and probably just as goddamn deadly to the poor patrons who're trapped in her spell.

Me included.

My cock takes notice, twitching at first before becoming a full-grown problem of its own. I uncross my legs and angle away from Emmett in an attempt to hide my reaction, but it's fucking impossible at this point. The traitor down below is already lifting my Cashmere robe to take its own peek.

Emmett stands swiftly, shoving his glasses up his nose and looking at the arm of the sofa instead of me. "I think I'll leave you two alone." His hands wave in the general area of my arousal.

Before I can respond … who am I kidding, I have no goddamn response. I just thank fucking God when I hear the elevator doors slide closed and reach for the remote. Rewinding back to the beginning, I sink into the soft leather and part my robe to the tie at my waist.

My aching cock is rock hard and begging for attention, so I zero my focus on the body that's moving on the large TV screen and skim my palm over it, sending a chill racing up my spine. Slow and seductive she moves as I grip my cock at the base and push down, lifting my hips to create a delicious pressure. The head bulges, and I squeeze, slowly sliding my fist upward until the excess skin has enveloped me.

With every erotic twist her lithe body makes, my hand works in tandem. Loosening my grip as I go down only to tighten and twist when I come back up. Her eyes find the camera and they lock on, dark and fathomless, they burn through me. It's like she's staring into my soul.

I lose my sense of self as I imagine the pole is my cock, and it's her hand that's stroking me. It feels like silk as it tightens around me, causing a sharp sensation low in my stomach. Her pace quickens, and my muscles tense as the tingle races downward, causing my balls to tighten and my cock to erupt, sending spurts shooting all over my bare legs and sofa.

Every muscle in me relaxes, but my eyes are still glued to the TV as I watch her work that goddamn stage like a vixen from hell. It's a weird feeling to be both blissed the fuck out and agitated at the same time, but I am, because without even meaning to, I've crossed a line.

When the screen goes dark, I lift my head and take fucking stock of my situation.

It's even more fucking pathetic than I imagined.

My jaw clenches, and I stand, my semi bobbing as a reminder that he's still as ready as ever. "Ora, puoi andare via," I say to my traitorous cock, willing it to go away.

Sure I pleasure myself, I'm a fucking man, but I'll be goddamned if some woman has me so desperate that I'm willing to defile my crocodile leather sofa over her dancing on a fucking screen. Too disgusted with myself to clean up the mess, I head for the master bedroom, allowing the robe to slip from my shoulders as I step into my custom, glass enclosed shower. Setting the ten body jets to the highest pressure, I allow the forceful streams to beat both my body and mind into submission. By the time I'm dressed in my Dolce and Gabbana suit, the whole scene has been forgotten.

Yeah, not fucking likely, but at least it's been compartmentalized.

When I head back to the living room to retrieve my iPhone, I can't help but glance at my cum-stained sofa. Shame moves through me, which pisses me the fuck off. I snatch a dishrag from the drawer and soak it in warm water before marching to the living room and wiping away all hints of my earlier activities. Standing to my full height, I strut back to the kitchen and deposit the rag in the trash bin, fully fucking satisfied that all physical signs are erased.

Grabbing my phone, I hit Aro's number. As always, he answers on the first ring. "Yo, Boss. What's shaking?"

I roll my goddamn eyes. "Meeting at noon. Inform your brothers, and make sure James accompanies you."

"Now, Boss," he starts with that easy-going attitude. "I made sure to ream his ass good. He won't fuck up again."

My laughter is dark. "Oh, I know he fucking won't. Make sure he's there." I end the call and go to the living room, gripping the lid on Emmett's laptop.

My intention was to close it and store it in my vault for safekeeping, but with an hour and twenty minutes left before I have somewhere to be, the temptation is almost too goddamn much to ignore. But then I remember that feeling from earlier and the lid slams closed, harder than I intended.

Fucking oops.

I snatch up the offensive piece of equipment and move with decisive steps toward the master bedroom. My personal sanctuary. On the left are floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall windows framing the city of Chicago. They have the ability to allow in as much light as I choose—or none at all. The wall behind me is covered from end to end with massive cherry bookshelves, holding anything from original copies of the classics to my favorite cookbooks. Centered on the wall facing the windows is my custom made, oversized wrought iron bed with two nightstands, iron and wood—also in cherry.

No pun intended.

On the far wall are the double doors that lead to my spa-like bathroom and large walk-in closet. But also, there's a series of large, abstract paintings with a mix of texture and technique that brings all the style elements together to create a cohesive look throughout my room.

I pick up the TV remote and press a complicated combination of buttons. One of the paintings shifts upward, and the wall slides open to reveal a thumbprint locked, walk-in sized, titanium reinforced room. Were some fucking idiot to actually remove the picture, all they would see is a blank wall.

I smirk at my thoughts and press my thumb to the scanner, watching as the door disappears into the wall, and my most precious possessions are revealed. They're mostly sentimental and not at all illegal, but important to me just the same. Such as my first gun, a North American Arms Mini Revolver 22 Magnum with a black pearl handle, or my Barley Corn Silver Classic Swiss Army knife. Each thing in this small room represents a part of me. I sigh and place Emmett's laptop on an open shelf and back from the room, pressing another combination of buttons to replace everything seamlessly back into place.

My Rolex Submariner lets me know that I've wasted twenty minutes, so I exit the master bedroom and hurry down the hall to my office. In there, I do the same, picking up the TV remote and pressing a combination of buttons. This time, a bookshelf pops open to reveal a secret elevator that also requires my thumbprint for operation. When it stops, a combination on the number pad opens another reinforced door, and I inhale the scent of metal.

I carefully select two different handguns, one for my chest holster and one for my hip, and then slip a knife into my sock for good measure. Pleased with my armed additions, I exit the armory, stepping back into the elevator and returning to my office.

Tired of pussyfooting around, I march straight to the main elevator, refusing to even glance toward the living room. I head down to the twelfth floor, which is informally known as Cullen Center by the Outfit. Though these rooms and residences show up as being owned by various people and corporations, it's all a front. This floor is reserved for family business, and not necessarily the illegal acts. Those are _usually_ kept far the fuck away from here.

Even though I'm almost thirty minutes early, it's no surprise that Marcus is already seated. "What's up, Boss."

I lift a brow. "Punctual as ever, I see."

"You know me." He shrugs. "I like to get the lay of the land."

"How's the deal with the Twelfth Street Gang working? You been able to smooth those ruffled feathers?" I ask. This is Marcus' specialty; working well with others. Were it not for his ability to keep the peace, there'd be some bloody streets in Chicago—not that there aren't already, but it'd be way worse if we had to flex our muscle more often.

"Yep, Boss. We made a deal that I think is fair to everyone involved," he says as he nods. "They're appreciative that you're allowing them a piece of the action."

I smirk at this motherfucker, because only he could make them think the Outfit's being generous, when we're really not. We're profiting hugely off this deal. "Keep yourself a two percent bonus off the next haul."

"Will do, Boss, appreciate it." He smiles and kicks up his feet in the chair beside him.

I knock them down. "Go on and get outta here. I'll deal with the other bozos."

It takes them fuckers twenty more minutes to show up, but when they do, a little thrill runs through me, because none other than fucking James Hunter is walking in behind his leader.

I level him with a glare. "Sit." I point to the far end of the table. "Let the big boys do business, and then we'll chat, eh?"

He nervously stutters, "Yes, sir."

For the next fifteen minutes, I spend my time overlooking the business reports while Caius and Aro patiently await my word. As usual, Aro is kicking both Marcus and Caius' ass by a good margin. Marcus has had it a little fucking rough, dealing with the street gangs and doing a fine job of it, but Caius really has no excuse.

I stand and tap my pointer finger on the table. "I expect a twenty percent increase next month," I say, my glare on Caius in full force. "Cool that fucking hot head down some, and you might see results."

He stares at me, and I can tell he's dying to say something, but he fucking won't, because he knows I'll end him right goddamn now. Finally, he looks away and mumbles, "Yes, Boss."

"Now, get the fuck outta here." I shove my thumb toward the door. "Both of ya."

After they exit, I walk down the table and prop my hip on the corner next to James. "Where the fuck were you?" I don't need to expand; he knows what the fuck he did.

"I-I-I—" His rambling is cut off by my hand gripping his throat.

Exerting pressure, I pull him up in my face. "You fucked up," I grit as the red begins to seep into his cheeks. "When I give an order, I expect it to be followed, no matter how mundane it may seem. Got it?" I shake him once and toss him back into his seat, releasing my fingers from his neck.

Yes, sir," he stutters as he stands, thinking I'm done with him, but he'd be sorely fucking mistaken.

"Did I dismiss you?" I step closer, towering above him.

"S-sorry, sir."

"Not yet." I smirk, tilting my head to the table. "Lay your weaker hand on the table."

He physically withdraws, but then seems to realize what he's doing and sits, slowly moving his left hand to lay it flat on the table. I recognize the trimmed cuticles and buffed nails.

"Nice manicure," I say, reaching inside my jacket to retrieve my Desert Eagle. "Too bad you couldn't follow orders." The butt of the solid handgun slams into his pinky and ring fingers, creating an enjoyable crunching sound.

Over and over, I repeat the movements until I'm fucking bored of it, then I aim the gun at his screaming head. "Shut the fuck up or die."

He quietens immediately, and he snatches his hand, cradling it to his chest. "Y-yes, B-boss," he almost cries, disgusting the fuck out of me.

Where did we find this wimpy motherfucker?

"Stand the fuck up." As he wearily complies, I step closer and catch his eye. "If something happens to this woman, there's no fucking where you could hide from my wrath. Got me?"

With a pathetic nod from his pathetic ass, I almost knock him on his ass with my shoulder as I brush past, exiting the room and headed to Midnight Sun.

It's about time I reacquainted myself with Bella Swan.

* * *

 _ ****My Two Dads**_ **was a sitcom from the late eighties into ninety. I remember it and thought the expression worked, even though the premise wasn't the same.**

 **Thrice was supposed to be today, but I decided to switch them out, and it'll post tomorrow. I am writing the final chapters now.**

 **My book Wanted Dead or Alive is now open for pre-order on Amazon under the author "Faye Byrd," in case anyone's interested.**

 **I post a teaser on my page "Fyregirl Fics" a couple days before each chapter. I'll also start posting them in PIF the day before the chapter posts, too.**

 **See you in 2 weeks—or less ;)**


	6. The Brother Card

**Fran is the awesome beta who makes my words pretty. 2browneyes and Ninkita pre-read this one for me, and they each have awesome WIPs—Red Ranger and Summer Rain. Are you reading?**

* * *

 **Gore rating—1 (anything under 5 is just violence really, not gore)**

It's still early when I arrive at the club, and only Rosalie is there when I let myself in. She pauses as she steps around the corner, a box in her arms. "You're a little early, aren't you?" She props her hip against the edge of the bar and lifts a brow, awaiting an answer.

My automatic instinct is to tell her to mind her own fucking business and don't question me, but somehow that doesn't feel appropriate. I am early, way goddamn earlier than I've ever shown up before.

So instead, I move her way and lift the box from her arms. "Where ya headed with this?"

Her eyes scan over my face as if she's looking for something, but I got that shit locked the fuck down, so she just ends up sighing. "Just take it down there," she says, waving toward the other end of the bar. "I need to restock."

I place it where she asks, and in a rare moment of niceness, I lift a brow. "That the only one, or are there more?"

Though her eyes narrow slightly, she bites back whatever smartass comment is going through her head. Good girl. "Nah, this is the only one," she says as she moves past me, headed to the box. "You going up to the office?"

"Yeah. Emmett should be here in a couple hours. Send him up, will ya?" I tap the bar top and start for the elevator before turning to walk backwards. "Oh, what time does Bella's shift start?"

Rose's face lights up, and she jabs her finger in my direction. "That's it! I knew something was up with you." Her giddy ass is almost vibrating as she comes to some kind of off-base, fucking revelation in her mind. "You've got the hots for new girl, eh?" She's smirking now, all sure of herself and shit.

I had paused as soon she'd spoken, but by now she's just getting ridiculous. I cross my arms over my chest and smirk right back at her. "My interest in Bella is none of your fucking business." Though my words are harsh, my tone of voice is cocky, self-assured. "Now, what time does her fucking shift start?"

Her hand lands on her hip, completely undeterred, because she can fucking sense my unintentional easy-going mood. Damn it! "She comes in at five. Would you like me to send her up?"

"Mi stai sul cazzo," I mumble, shaking my head, but what's fucked up is she really isn't _bugging the shit out of me_ , because right now, for some reason, I don't have a goddamn care in the world. I'm just ready to see Bella again, live and in person.

I wave my hand. "Nah, I just wanted to know what time she'd be in."

"Hmm mmm," she hums, and it slithers down my spine, causing it to stiffen and my casual expression to drop.

"Now, Rose, you wouldn't want to push your luck too fucking far, would you?" At her head shake, I smile again. "Good. Now make sure to send up my brother." I turn but pause and glance back over my shoulder. "Before you and him slip into a closet somewhere." At her gasp, I chuckle loudly and enter the elevator.

After taking a seat, I open the laptop and pull up the most recent financials for Midnight Sun. Though the club is technically Emmett's, and Rosalie runs it, I'm the money guy for all the Cullen endeavors—legal or otherwise—and no financial statement is approved until it's passed before my eyes.

Got to use that fucking MBA somewhere.

After closing out the club's file, I log into the corporate account of our other legal business—Grizzly Armor. This is Emmett's true love; a multi-billion-dollar cyber security firm he developed in high school, which now handles web security for some of the most lucrative companies in the world. Though it only employs twenty-three people, they're some of the smartest motherfuckers on the planet. Add to that my brother's genius, and that's why they're the top company in their field.

Though Emmett started the company—and it is his baby—it wasn't without financial help from Pop and me, so we each own a twenty-four percent share, leaving him the majority. Either way, we're all some deep pocketed motherfuckers. The very least I can do is look over the financials and make sure some idiotic fuck isn't trying to rip us off.

It's the money from this endeavor that we invest and use to amass our legal holdings. My building, Cullen Place, and this building, Grizzly HQ, are both investments we've made that increase our bottom line. Pop has his own fortune, and I do all right myself, but this business has allowed us to expand our influence in Chicago, purchasing large real estate holdings.

Something that shouldn't be done with blood money—if you want to get away with it, that is.

After a small tap on the door, it opens, and my brother's thin frame settles into the seat across from me. His eyes rove over me before that geeky smirk from this morning settles on his lips. "Sup? Everything go okay after I left?"

I keep my eyes focused on the numbers to refrain from strangling him. "Sure." I shrug all nonchalantly and shit. "Why wouldn't it?" I set my impassive stare on him. "Oh, and your laptop is in my vault."

He chuckles heartily and pushes his glasses up on his nose. "I think I'll just let you hold on to that one."

Leaning back in my chair, I eye his smug ass across the desk. "Do I need to remind you of the morning after Rosalie's first night at Mid—"

He waves his hands frantically as his face turns red as a fucking beet. "Stop. Stop it. I'll drop it. Fine." He ends with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest. "You could've at least let me heckle you a little before retaliating."

I throw my head back and laugh, because he's right. As much shit as I have on his nerdy, loner ass, I could've let him fucking razz me a little more. I widen my arms. "Go for it, Em. I'm an open target."

He waves me away. "Fuhgettaboutit." He tilts his head to the laptop. "How're the books looking?"

I focus back on the report I had pulled up. "I'm going through Grizzly now, but the club looks perfect as usual. Rose may be a bitch to deal with, but she does what the fuck she's supposed to," I reply, my attention more on the laptop screen than the words escaping between my goddamn lips.

"What the fuck, Edward?" Emmett barks, causing my head to snap back in his direction, already realizing my mistake. "She's not a bitch, and that attitude toward her pisses me off."

I sigh and hold up my hands, because fuck. "Shit, Em, I'm sorry, okay? I've always liked Rose in that 'as long as you do what I say' sort of way, so you'll just have to give me time to acclimate to the 'she's fucking my brother, you need to act decent' way. I'll try, I promise."

He goes from fucking enraged to embarrassed before I'm even done speaking. He leans across the desk, pushing his glasses up his nose. "You know about that?" he whispers, like someone might fucking overhear.

"Gesù Cristo," I mumble, running my hand through my hair. "Of course I fucking know. Anybody who visits Midnight Sun with any regularity has to know as well. Besides, why does it even fucking matter? If you want her to be your girl, then she can be your girl. It's as simple as that."

"It's a little more complicated than you think," he mutters quietly, looking all guilty and shit.

"What the fuck's that supposed to mean," I ask, throwing my hands up in the goddamn air, because I haven't a fucking clue.

He reaches out and starts fiddling with a paperweight on the desk, his eyes on his hands. Oh, boy. "There might be a few things I left out of her original background information." My back stiffens ramrod straight. "Anyway, it's nothing big, really, it's just a complication of our relationship."

He still hasn't looked up, and by this point, I'm fucking fuming. "Emmett," I growl and wait for his baby blues to peek at me over the rim of his glasses. "What did you leave out?"

He glances back down and swallows before looking back at me with new determination. "She's married."

I'm not sure what I was expecting, but that wasn't it. Okay. It's not too bad. I'm not particularly fond of people who have affairs outside their marriage, but hey, I'm not the one fucking her. Pretty much like Pop and his whore. The most she'll ever be to me is my brother's whatever-the-fuck you want to call her.

I shrug. "So?"

His eyes widen slightly, and his head droops. "It's more about _who_ she is and who her husband _was_ ," he mumbles to the floor.

And that right there just blows my easy-going mood to hell, because there's no fucking way he'd act like this over nothing. I stand, shoving my chair back so hard it bounces off the wall and smack my hands on the desk. "Tell me!"

He jumps his skinny ass up and starts pacing the floor in front of my desk. "You're not going to like it," he says, shaking his head, and I can see him warring within himself, so I cross my arms over my chest and wait. After a few more mumbles, he pauses and meets my eyes. "Her name isn't Rosalie Hale, it's Lillian King."

The name rings familiar, but nothing I can pluck off the top of my fucking head. "Enlighten me," I say after a moment of thought.

He rubs the back of his neck and surreptitiously moves a couple more steps away. "Ya know"—he shrugs—"Royce King."

Rage races over me, and I step out from behind the desk. My steps are calculated as I approach him. "Excuse me," I say with a nasty sneer. "I think I misunderstood you, Emmett. Because there's absolutely no fucking way my brother would keep something like this from me for three goddamn years!" I'm yelling by this point, and I can't seem to stop my hand when it smacks him upside the fucking head.

Balling my fists, I turn and take two steps away, pinching the bridge of my nose. He stays quiet as I count down from twenty in my head, attempting to obtain some kind of fucking control. Enough not to shove my Desert Eagle down his throat, at least.

Because, goddamn, he's a fucking idiot.

I finally just give the fuck up and move back to my seat, flopping into it with a growl. "Sit the fuck down and spill," I demand, pointing to his chair.

He approaches hesitantly, and that pisses me the fuck off, even though it shouldn't. I mean, I love my brother and would never hurt him, but I want to, so he's smart to be fucking leery. Right this second, the urge to kill is surging through my veins with the swiftness of a jetliner.

"I'm sorry, Ed—" I snap my hand up and pin him with a dark stare, instantly stopping his babbling.

"Save it. I want to know details," I say, jabbing my fingers into the desk. "Every fucking detail."

He breathes deeply and nods, centering his glasses on his nose like a shield. "Rose had already been on the run a year and a half by the time she landed in Chicago. She'd changed her appearance and her name several times already, but not good enough." He pauses, and a faint smile curves his lips. "Well, not good enough for me, anyway. As soon as I ran her I knew something was off, so I sent her through my facial recognition software."

My eyes widen in goddamn disbelief at this motherfucker. "So what? Instead of telling me we'd located a missing mob wife, you what? Hired her?"

He nods, and his mouth opens, yet he pauses before speaking. "I, uh, gave her a new identity, but first I stripped her original one to only the barest facts."

My head thumps against the back of my chair as I just stare, wide-eyed, at this goddamn ding dong. My genius fucking brother, using his skills to help a runaway mob-wife from Miami. Now, don't get me wrong, I hate those fuckers and refuse to entertain any business notions with them, but this, this is akin to a war crime. It _will_ cause a war if it's ever uncovered.

"Look, Edward," Emmett starts, leaning forward and motioning his hands expressively. "You should've seen her, talked to her. She was a mess—and that was over a year after her escape. I could just tell she needed help."

I snort. "So you took it upon yourself." I take a deep breath and sit forward, mulling over his argument, and nope, I still don't fucking get it, but one thing bothers me more than the rest. "Why didn't ya just tell me, Em?"

"Oh come on, Edward. You know why!" he says, throwing his hands up in the air and giving me an incredulous look. "She was this beautiful, broken woman who needed somebody to step in and help. She didn't ask me, I just did it." He shakes his head with a laugh, and not necessarily a funny one. "You should've seen her when I gave her the new documents. She flipped out."

"So, how'd ya get her to stick around?" I ask, widening my arms. "And why would she leave one mob family only to get close to another?" I shake my head. "That doesn't exactly add up."

"She had no idea." He shrugs. "Which is why I had to sit her down and lay out her options—accept my help and build a safe, new life, or hit the road again because she was a liability with her flimsy ID. I even warned her what she was getting into as far as you were concerned." He rolls his fucking eyes, and I'm not sure if that bothers me or not. I mean, I _can_ be an asshole. "Look, it's taken me years to truly earn her trust, and I won't lose it. She's finally opened herself up to me in ways I never thought possible, and I need my brother to know the truth."

I sigh and nod, because fuck, he's pulling the brother card. "What did you mean earlier when you said she escaped?"

"She was his prisoner, Edward, not his wife." His voice is hard and angry, something I'm unaccustomed to hearing from Emmett. "I still don't know the depth of the brutality she faced with him, but I know it was bad. Returning her is not an option."

Now he's just being a fucking idiot. I might not like this bullshit— _at fucking all_ —but I love my brother, and if he thinks he did the right thing, then I'll kill any motherfucker necessary to keep what's his. And it's looking like that may be Rosalie Hale.

"Sei proprio semo, sai?" I say with a chuckle, asking if he realizes he's a real fool. "Miami means shit to me. I just wish you'd been straight back in the beginning. Maybe we could've helped but still sent her on her way. As it is now, if she gets made, we've started a fucking war."

He crosses his arms over his chest and gives me a confident stare. "And that's exactly why I didn't. I knew you'd send her away."

Jesus Fucking Christ!

I scrub my hand through my hair, all but given up at this point. What's done is fucking done, and what's more, he's a lovesick puppy. Any shot I had of discouraging this is long fucking gone, he made sure of that shit. All I can do now is dig in my heels and find out the whole story of Lillian King. Emmett may have her identity locked down—and I trust he did it thoroughly—but that's not enough. We're talking about a powerful mob family here, and only I can truly assure her safety.

"All right, Em. Here's the deal," I say, propping my elbows on the desk. "Give me a few days, and I'll start looking into this shit. You think she's safe, but you don't know the lengths a motherfucker like me will go to find what's his." He's smiling now that he's gotten his way, but I hold up my hands, signaling it's not quite that fucking easy. "I need to cool off first, though. So keep her out of my sight until I ask for a meeting. Got me?"

A wide smile spreads across his lips, and even though he's ruined my good fucking mood, I can't help but smirk and shake my head, picking up a pen and throwing it at him. "Now get the fuck out. You've ruined my day."

He jumps up all happy puppy and shit, leaving the room excitedly. Fuck. I rest my head back and look to the ceiling. This shit was nowhere on my radar, and it irks the fuck out of me. Especially at Rose. All this time, she was hiding shit from me, and knowing who I am should've been enough to make her come clean.

Now I have to decide how I intend to fucking punish her.

As all that goes through my mind, though, something else worms its way inside and stirs me from my Emmett-induced troubles. Music. Vibrations reverberate through the walls, traveling upwards from the main floor. Midnight Sun is open. I sit up swiftly, tapping the laptop screen, bringing it to life. The little numbers in the bottom right corner tell me it's after eight.

Fuck! I close out the financials I was viewing earlier. I can check that shit tomorrow when I'm alone. Right now, I have much higher priorities. A certain brunette is the building, and I'll be goddamned if I stay up here a second longer.

I roll my shirt to my elbows and leave my suit jacket behind, popping into the lavatory to splash water on my face and run my fingers through my already chaotic hair. A splash of Versace Eros Cologne and I'm as freshened up as I can get without going home first. I smirk to myself in the mirror and strut toward the elevator, taking it down just one floor.

I end up on the VIP level, which includes various ways in which our affluent patrons can enjoy the club's offerings. The particular feature I'm interested in tonight are the glass balconies that arc over the dance floor with built-in, low-lying lounge seats that provide the optimal vantage point for viewing our artists. Each of the five exclusive spots offer unique angles on certain podiums, and as I look around, all are occupied, causing a surge of irritation to flare.

But it's only one in particular that meets my requirements. I stalk over with purpose in my steps and clear my throat to gain the attention of the pack of college-aged boys who occupy it. But they're so busy drooling over the dancers below that I'm completely ignored, turning my irritation into full blown rage rather swiftly.

I snatch the closest body up by his shirt collar and bring his red-veined eyes level with mine. "I do believe you and your friends are in my booth."

His eyes cross as he works to focus on my face, and after a moment, a loud cackle erupts, sending alcohol-laden, fucking puke-worthy breath soaring up my nostrils. "Dude, you're way too serious right now," he says, gripping my hands and trying to loosen my fists. "Chill, dude. Hey, let me go!"

By this point, the commotion has attracted a couple of his friends, and they stumble over. "Hey, man, what's going on here?" one of them says as he grabs his buddy's shoulder, trying to tug him from my grasp.

I let go and watch as both of them stumble back onto one of the sofas before cutting my eyes to the next closest _dude—_ fucking pansies. "I was trying to nicely explain how you were in my booth, but that guy must have hearing issues. I'm going to need you to vacate this area. Any deposit paid will be returned fully," I say in the most pleasant voice I can muster as acid floods my veins.

But, like all drunk frat boys I've ever come in contact with, they can never just do as they're fucking asked. This one puffs out his chest and steps closer. "I'm not sure you understand, dude, but _we_ paid for this booth. Now get lost," he says, throwing his thumb over his shoulder.

I snort and slam my fist into his stomach. When he doubles over, I wind my fingers in his hair and bring my knee up, hearing the satisfying crunch of his nose just before he drops to the floor.

Then I turn to his drunk, wobbly dude-pack and lift a daring brow. "Does anyone else have an objection?"

With a chorus of head shakes, the crew of meatheads start to stumble their way around me, giving me a wide berth and sidelong glances. By now, security has joined us and they help the beaten, inebriated man to his feet, passing him over to his buddies.

"Get that guy fixed up and compensate them for the booth. Also, find them another spot to finish their party," I instruct Ben, who's the head of security for Midnight Sun.

"You got it, Boss," he replies, turning to lead the pack of frat boys away, their demeanors more public-appropriate than when I first approached.

When I step in to claim my prize, the sight that greets me is fucking disgusting, so I motion to a waiter who's already standing by to be at my beck and call. "Get this cleaned up," I say, waving at the mess scattered around me. "Also, I'll take a Glenfiddich; keep 'em coming."

My shitty day just got shittier, and I need a fucking drink—or ten, but there's a bright spot, and it's just beyond that ledge. I take three steps and I'm there. The music thumps in a heavy beat, vibrating through the floor and making my blood pound at my temples.

After a moment, I cast my eyes down, intentionally avoiding _her_ podium. A red-head catches my attention, but she can't keep it, so I move to the next artist. This time it's a guy, and I skim right past. Now it's a different brunette, this one with tits and ass spilling from her tiny outfit, but even the excess of skin can't hold my fucking eye. Her movements are all wrong, practiced and robotic.

I shake my head to clear it, because fuck, I hired all these artists, and each one disappoints me with their performance. With an annoyed breath, I finally focus my attention on her, and she robs me of that very same goddamn breath. Her movements are dark and intense, predatory, causing my chest to tighten, making breathing impossible for a few short seconds.

An unbidden smirk creeps onto my lips.

Now that's a fucking performance.

I don't know how long I stand there like the fucking stalker she's made me, but the next thing I know, the waiter is offering me a drink, and the booth is pristine. I relax back into the low-lying seat where the angle is even better and stretch my legs out before throwing the glass back and downing it in one go.

I hold it up to the waiter who's standing there expectantly. "Another."

To my fucking surprise, he's already slipping a fresh drink in my hand. My eyes jump to his face, and the eager little suck-up is quite pleased with himself—as he should be. Pleasing me isn't fucking easy. Let's see if he can keep it up.

I give him a nod as I take a large gulp. "Keep that up, and you might get a bonus."

He gives a slight bow and scurries off, presumably to get my next drink ready—at least he better be. In his absence, I focus back on the object of my obsession, and she's still at it, her body moving in perfect time with the music. Even with her assets tastefully covered, she's the most seductive object in the room, and judging by the gaggle of men dancing around her podium—sans women—I'd say they agree.

My jaw tightens and I kill my drink, but lucky for him, the waiter is there, and this time he serves me a full-size glass with three ice cubes. I smirk at the smart ass and accept it. "Well played."

After killing half of it, my eyes fall to her podium, only she's not there. I jerk up suddenly, my head fucking spinning, and look around, desperate to locate her. I spot a flash of brown moving through the crowd, and what do ya fucking know—a whole goddamn cluster of men is in pursuit.

A growl builds in my goddamn chest, and I throw my glass back, killing off the rest of the large glass. But before I can go off someone, a feminine body perches itself on the edge of my lounger and brushes her hand against my thigh. Long tan legs are bent at the knees, and they lead up to a shapely waist followed by a sizeable chest spilling from a deep red V and a slender neck surrounded by a cascade of dark brown hair.

I jerk upright swiftly, the face before me smearing into a blur before coming somewhat back in focus. "What the fuck, Angela," I snap, grabbing my head to stop the spinning.

She leans closer, her perfume wafting up my nose, and places her hand on my chest. Her lips are deep red and my eyes are drawn to them. "You look like you could use some company."

A movement beyond her catches my attention, and I smirk. "I could."

* * *

 **So Emmett hijacked this chapter big time, but I ended up loving the opportunities it presents for the future.**

 **I haven't gotten as much done as I'd hope since I saw you last, and I'm sorry. It will def be week after next before you get another, but hopefully, I can get it to you earlier in the week.**

 **I can promise you 5k next chapter with lots and lots of ExB (possibly not how you expect them, but I never want to be predictable). Thank you for reading!**

 **See you as soon as I can :)**


	7. Two of Her?

**Good morning! As usual, this is beta'd by the fabulous Fran! Ninkita, 2browneyes and my new pre-reader, Sunshine, have been kind enough to give me their comments.**

* * *

 **Gore rating—0**

I lift my hand and flick two fingers, prompting the waiter forward to accept my next drink before relaxing back into a lounging position, brushing off the voluptuous woman on fucking purpose.

"Thanks … " I pause and eye him, waiting for him to supply his name.

He widens his eyes before a smile as bright as the fucking sun lights his face. "Mike, Boss. At your service."

I nod, storing it for possible future use, and take a generous sip of my drink before cutting my gaze back to the glass that surrounds me. As usual, the effect when my eyes land on her is visceral. A fucking surge rushes through me and collects in my heart, kicking it into high speed. If I didn't know any fucking better, I'd think I just puffed a generous glass bowl.

I find myself fucking transfixed by the placement of her hands as she sways her hips to an erotic beat. They span just below her tits as if covering a magical line; the two sections of her body dance separate but in tandem. As they move down over the expanse of her stomach, her movements respond in kind, and by the time she grips the top of her thighs, I realize my whole body has tensed in goddamn anticipation.

When a neatly manicured hand lands on my thigh, I'm snatched back into reality, and it's quite fucking jarring. I jerk the offensive appendage off and snap my eyes to the wrong fucking brunette. "Do not fucking touch me," I growl.

"Oh, Edward," she coos, without the least bit of fear, like my anger means nothing. Maybe I've put up with her bullshit in the past, but tonight, she's fucking distracting me from my purpose. "Will tonight's game be playing hard to get?"

My eyes narrow and I look at her, really fucking look, only to realize there's not one remarkable thing about her. Her whole façade is just that. A fake, made-up persona that doesn't do one goddamn thing for me. I even feel a little queasy when I consider the times I've enjoyed her attention in the past—or that might be the alcohol.

I bark out a laugh. "I thought the last five months were enough to clue you in. We're done. Now get lost and let me drink in fucking peace."

My eyes fall back to Bella as if she's metal and they're magnets. The music has changed now, and it makes me a little fucking irritated that I missed the seamless transition she made between beats—because she always does. But each second that I'm able to watch her causes it to lessen, because fuck, she's moving slow now—her every goddamn move seems to stretch on for seconds at a time.

I may even emit a soft fucking sigh.

Being so focused does all kinds of fuck-awesome things to my insides, but it isn't so fucking good when it attracts the wrong kind of attention to the object of my desire. It isn't until she's straddled my midsection that I realize Angela had stood to follow my line of sight.

With a bored sigh, I begrudgingly cut my eyes back to her—well, her fake tits that are bulging from the top of her dress as she leans over me. "I'm not fucking interested." I drag my eyes up so she can get the full fucking effect of my glare.

Her face is just inches from mine, and the red of her lips as they form a pout does absolutely nothing for me. "Edward," she says, her fingers running through the hair at my temples. "We both know that's a lie. Our time together was always fun."

Before I can rebuke her, she's lowered her lips and attached them to mine quite fucking forcefully. The amount of alcohol I've consumed slows my reflexes, but when they kick in, it's with a hard shove that lands her prissy ass on the floor.

She jumps up all smoke and steam, but I can't even be bothered to fucking care—until, that is, she perches on the edge of my seat and tilts her head to the dance floor below. "You should know better than to intermingle with the help. It doesn't become you."

Even inebriated, it doesn't take me but a second to form the proper response to that fucking bullshit. I snort. "I find that fucking hilarious since you fall into that same category."

She withdraws as if I slapped her, which causes me to smirk. "How dare you even make that generalization. I work for the most prestigious security firm in the world. There is _no_ comparison."

While what she's saying has merit, frankly I don't give a fuck. Though she works for Grizzly, it's a company I partially own; therefore, she's the fucking help, the same as Bella. But even more than that, she's fucking ruining the only hope I had of turning around a really shitty day, and I'm so goddamn over it.

I sit up abruptly, pausing to let my head catch up, and motion for her to back the fuck up. She stands with a satisfied smile. Getting up myself, I find Ben and flick my fingers for him to join me.

This might get ugly.

Grabbing her arm, I step closer and lean my head down, so my lips are close to her ear. "Angela," I purr, using the sexiest voice I can muster in my current state. "It was nice of you to offer, but even if my mind could get on board, my cock's no longer cooperating. It finds everything about you to be a turn-off."

I hear her gasp before she snatches her arm away and steps back. "How dare you!"

"It's the truth." Sliding my hands in my pocket, I shrug. "Now, please, go hit on some other poor unsuspecting shmuck and leave me the fuck alone!"

"I'm not some toy you can put on the shelf until you want to play again, Edward Cullen." She steps forward with her hand in the air.

Normally, I'd break her goddamn fingers for even attempting it, but the alcohol has my reflexes in some fucked up mode that only allows me to watch as her hand comes closer and closer before making sharp contact with my cheek.

Everything around me goes silent as Ben swiftly moves in and grabs Angela around the waist. It takes a second for my brain to catch up with what the fuck just happened, but when I do, my muscles tense as I watch her struggle and make the scene even worse.

All the anger that has consumed me throughout the day returns in full fucking force, and I take one step forward, gripping her chin between my fingers. "You're considered one of the smartest people in the world, so I shouldn't have to tell you what your next move is going to be."

She jerks away and lifts her chin in defiance. "Go to hell, Edward."

I toss my head back and let out a dark laugh, bracing my body to keep from stumbling. "Of that, there's no doubt"—I lean down and place my lips to her ear—"but I'll rule that motherfucker too."

Stepping back, I tilt my head for Ben to get her the fuck out of my sight and catch Mike's eye as he loiters behind them. I wave him over. "Keep 'em coming."

He scurries off to fulfill my request, and slowly, the area comes back to life as the VIP patrons get back to their own partying. I'm finally fucking able to settle back and do my goddamn stalking in peace.

But when my eyes make their way to Bella, I find her looking right the fuck back at me. Though the music is slow, her movements aren't exaggerated and sensual like earlier. Oh no, they're fucking sharp, instant, snapping to the beat of the drum in the background.

I'd almost say she's fucking pissed.

I can't look away—not that I ever could.

When Mike pops back over with my fresh drink, I barely glance at him for fear of losing Bella's dark, seductive gaze. Knowing that she's watching me watch her heightens the experience, but instead of sending the blood rushing to my cock, it travels to my fucking alcohol-addled brain, making me woozy. I grip my head to steady it and snort.

Goddamn evil seductress.

For the rest of the night, I drink and watch, my eyes never leaving her performance. There comes a point where I can't even tell if she's looking at me anymore, but I could give a fuck less. I can see her, and that's the only thing that fucking matters.

Sometimes I even see two of her.

Then everything goes quiet, and the next thing I know, a soft voice is reverberating through my head. "Edward," it says, accompanied with a shake of my shoulder, which makes my head swim.

My mind has trouble coming to terms with what the fuck's happening, so I retreat, pulling away from the touch, but it moves to my cheek. Soft skin caresses me, and I nuzzle into it, because, why wouldn't I?

"You really poured one on, didn't ya?" the same soft voice says, and it's inviting, important even, but I can't fucking remember why. All I know is that it's soothing, and I want to wrap myself in it like a blanket.

There's a giggle, and then the worst fucking thing imaginable happens. Two fingers clamp on my nostrils, sealing them closed, and while I can breathe through my mouth, it feels like an attack and my body reacts on instinct.

I sit up abruptly, wide a-fucking-wake now, and grab the offender, pinning their body against the lounger. "Big mistake, fucker," I growl, still trying to get a grasp onto the here and now.

That same giggle I heard earlier comes from the person below me, so I shake my head and zero my focus on the face beneath me. I smirk.

I guess dreams really do come true.

"Bella Swan?" I ask, because I'm beginning to doubt if this fucked up situation is even real. Last I saw, she was taking my goddamn breath from her podium.

"Try to help a guy out, and this is what you get." She shrugs and motions between us.

As I take stock, I realize I have her pinned halfway beneath me, our chests pressed tightly together. "I don't know," I muse, taking in the feel of her tits as her chest moves up and down. "I can't find anything wrong with this position, especially after the way you've tortured me tonight."

She snorts and pushes against my shoulders, hard enough to disorient me in my fucking inebriated state. I lose my balance, only to barely catch myself in time to plop my ass on the floor next to the lounger.

I scrub my hand through my hair, propping my head back and tilting it so I can see her as she sits up. "What the fuck was that for?"

She crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm not your keeper, Edward, but don't try to play me for a fool either."

I stare at her for a second, wondering what in the absolute fuck she's talking about, but it hurts my goddamn brain to even consider, so I give up, casting my eyes to the ceiling instead. "Fucking women," I mumble.

Apparently, she doesn't like that shit either because she's up and standing before me in two seconds flat. "Look, I'm sorry for bothering you, but Rose asked if I could come wake you. I'm not sure why, but it seemed important to her."

This is the first chance I've had to look at her since she's been up here, so I do. My eyes start at her feet and make their way up her body, memorizing every single dip and swerve. She's added a tank and teeny tiny—is that fucking _spandex_ —skirt over her dance clothes, and fuck, even in cheap clothes, she's sexy as fuck.

Her throat clearing snaps me from my ogling, and I let my head drop back against the lounger, my eyes back toward the ceiling—it actually helps with the spinning. "Shit sorry," I say, but I don't mean it. How can I when she looks like that? "Yeah, Rose." I fucking snort. "She sent you because she's afraid I'm gonna clip her ass."

Bella laughs a little, but when I roll my head over and lift my brows, she stops. "You're serious?"

Her outline gets a little fuzzy, prompting me to squint my eyes closed and press them with my fingers. When I reopen them, I wave my hand through the air. "Not really." But when I see her relax—because I notice every slight fluctuation of her body—I figure I better make myself a little more fucking clear. "Hold up"—I push my hands out in front of me—"I don't want you getting the wrong idea here. Rose is on my shit list, like at the fucking top, but she won't die for it. She's found herself a security blanket in Emmett, and as long as she's important to him, she's off limits, but that's the _only_ reason she's not on my hit list."

Bella does this little sexy roll of her shoulders as she crosses her arms over her chest and lifts the bitch brow. "You have a hit list?" Her voice has an edge of disbelief to it, and I fucking guess she has a point.

I roll my eyes, and it makes my head swim so I completely fucking regret it. "Okay, you got me. No list"—I look at her as seriously as I can—"but people who cross me tend to disappear, Bella."

"So that's it?" she asks, still in bitch stance. "You come here and basically stalk me just so you can convince me you're a bad man. Well, I have news for you, Edward Cullen, I knew you were dangerous when I stepped into that office to dance for you. But you know what I've learned since then?" She doesn't even pause long enough for me to answer—not that I could. "That you'd go out of your way to help someone who's in trouble."

I drop my head back against the lounger with a huff. "I was looking for you, Bella, of course I was going to intervene when two guys were attacking you."

"The first night, too?" she asks in a fake sugary voice.

Now I think it's her who's making my head fucking spin with all the questions. "No, the first night I just happened upon you and was pissed you were walking alone so late at night."

"Aha," she says triumphantly, causing my head to jerk back in her direction. With her finger pointing at me, she says, "See? Not such a big bad, scary man after all."

Jesus Fucking Christ! It _is_ her that's making my head spin. "Your point?"

She bends so her face is hovering just above mine. "You're more than a killer, Edward Cullen."

I blink and stare at her, seriously questioning my sanity. The more I consider it, the more I think she's just an apparition; some fucked up vision my mind is conjuring. But whatever she is, the tension that's crackling between us makes my heart speed, sending excess blood rushing to my head. Too fucking bad for me that in my current state it only makes me dizzier.

Groaning, I run both hands through my hair and close my eyes in an attempt to gain my bearings. When I reopen them, she's still there, but back to her standing position.

Maybe it is all real.

I stretch my hand out and grip her calf, urging her to step closer. When she does, I relax my hold and run my thumb against the soft skin. "I'm so fucked in the head right now that I can barely carry on this conversation, much less keep up. All I wanted was to see you again, but this day's been one big cluster fuck."

Bella smiles softly. "Well, you got one wish, at least. Here I am." She motions to herself with her hands.

"Yes," I agree with a smirk—I think. "Here you are."

I don't know how long we stay that way—time's pretty fucked for me right now—but it feels like a minute or maybe even an hour. My thumb continues its circuit, caressing the soft skin of her leg, and she lets me.

A whistle from the floor below interrupts the silence as Bella snaps from the moment, stepping back so that my hand drops to the floor. "It's pretty late. I think Rose is ready to lock up."

I growl at hearing her name. "I have a key. Just tell her to go the fuck on."

Bella squats beside me and brushes her fingers across my hand. "Why don't I just help you home instead?" she asks softly, and my eyes snap to hers.

"I'm pretty sure I don't need help," I reply, lowering my voice. "But if you want to go home with me, just fucking say so."

Bella huffs and rolls her eyes, standing and crossing her arms. "Such a cocky fucker, aren't you? Even after your little show earlier, I was being nice, but you can just go fuck yourself."

She turns to stomp away, and even though I have no damn clue what's she going on about, I don't want her to go. I jerk my legs up and stand with a swiftness I'm not prepared for, because the whole fucking room spins and I lose the ability to stay upright. My ass lands back on the lounger with a resounding thump, my vision vibrating into one big blur.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply, trying to settle my stomach as much as my goddamn inebriated mind. Fuck! I slap my hand on the leather beside me in frustration with both myself and Bella.

Why does shit have to be so fucking complicated?

And why the hell did I get so goddamn drunk?

Taking steady deep breaths, I bring my hands up and dig my palms into my eyes, staying that way until the spinning fucking stops and the darkness levels out. This goddamn day is only getting worse, and it's never fucking ending.

Can't a guy catch a fucking break?

A nudge to my leg brings me out of the little pity party happening inside my head, and a surge of hope rushes through me. My breathing speeds ever so slightly, and I work to calm myself before opening my eyes. I drop my arms and grunt as I lift onto my elbows to face the woman who probably should've left me lying here like the drunken asshole that I am.

"Bella," I say evenly, afraid she'll disappear if I let her see how fucking ecstatic it makes me that she's here. "You stayed."

As I sit up fully, she sighs and flops down beside me on the lounger. "You can't even stand upright, of course I stayed."

I smirk—mostly because I'm a stupid motherfucker. "If you say so."

"Look, Edward," she starts, pinning me with her dark, possibly irritated eyes. "I don't know what I expected when I came up here, but this isn't it. I'm not sure why you did this to yourself, but I'm going to help you get home."

Before I can say something stupid—again—she slips her hand over my mouth. "No snide remarks, no innuendo, no nothing. Just let me help you home. Okay?"

Because I can't fucking speak, I nod, and she slowly lowers her hand. "Thank you, Bella."

"Anytime, Edward," she says softly, her hands fidgeting in her lap. "And I mean that, but you have to understand, the last time I entertained the idea of"—she pauses and glances away from me—"spending time with you, I had a gun pulled on me."

I grip her hands to stop their anxious movements and reach over with my pointer finger, tilting her face back in my direction. "That will _never_ fucking happen again!" I growl, unable to rein in the anger at the picture she paints. I take a deep breath and try again. "I'm not going to lie and say there are no issues when it comes to us, but I promise you now, they all lie with me, and only me. You're free to do as you please, Bella."

If she's taken aback at the passion in my voice, she doesn't show it, she only stares at me with those fucking seductive eyes. "I'd like to believe that, but we're talking about my life here, not some random person who may or may not be on your hit list." She smiles to let me know she's joking, but I don't like that it bothers her—and it does, or she wouldn't have said it.

"Just trust me on this," I state firmly, pushing a wayward curl behind her ear. "Carlisle Cullen is no threat to you."

She bats her eyes all innocently and shit before asking, "Am I confused on which of you is the Boss?"

Fucking smartass.

I throw my hands in the air with a snort. "Can't win with you, can I?"

Her satisfied laugh makes me smile. "How about I get you home, and we call that a win?" she asks as she gets to her feet and motions for me to join her.

I take a deep breath and blow it out before attempting to stand. This shit hasn't worked out very well for me tonight. On unsteady legs, and with the meager assistance of Bella holding onto my arm for extra balance, I fucking finally put my feet to use without my head sending me back on my ass.

I chuckle, proud of myself, but it only makes me woozy. "Shit!" I exclaim as I sway on my feet.

But Bella's there, slipping her arm around my waist to steady me. Her body settles against mine, and she's surprisingly sturdy for such a small woman. "See, this is why you need help. Now, where to?"

I have to look around for a minute to gain my bearings before pointing toward the elevator. "Over there."

The going is slow when we start, the first ten steps a little rocky, but by the time we step into the small box, my head is a little less fucking scattered. Not quite enough to have a repeat of our last encounter, but that doesn't stop the tension from mounting. It's goddamn suffocating by the time the doors open.

Bella isn't as quick to snuggle up to me this time, which causes me to smirk to myself as I move to the wall and use it for extra support. When we come to the fingerprint door, she lifts her brow as it opens but otherwise says nothing. It isn't until we exit into my garage that she realizes what we just did.

"Ah, nice," she says, seemingly impressed with my underground passageway. "There's always going to be more to uncover, I see."

I huff out a laugh as I see Demetri stepping from his office. "Trust me, there's plenty you don't want to know."

"Boss?" he says as he approaches us.

"Bella mi sta solo aiutando a tornare a casa. Avevo un po 'troppo da bere." I wave him off, explaining that Bella's helping me home because of my overindulgence.

As expected, he gets that same damn look he gave me the last time we were here together. My eyes narrow. "Don't."

He throws his hands up and backs away. "Nessun problema."

I go to roll my fucking eyes, but then I remember the shape my head's in and think twice. Instead, I just watch as he retreats before cutting my eyes to Bella—the intensity of her stare causes an unexplainable heat to move over my body.

I look away, and still using the wall for support, I point to the elevator. "Just one more ride and you've performed your civic duty."

When she almost chokes—on what I have no goddamn idea—I move to pat her on the back. "What the fuck, Bella. Are you okay?"

She coughs a couple times and moves away from my touch, her eyes on the elevator ahead. "Yeah, sure. Air just went down the wrong pipe, I guess."

"Well, fuck, be careful," I say with a chuckle as I scan my thumbprint.

This elevator ride is even more tense than the last—and twice as fucking long, too. But I don't attack, and that's mostly because I'm afraid I'll fall on my ass if every bit of my concentration isn't on standing. Only the sound of our breaths can be heard, and they're fucking heavy—both of us are panting like goddamn dogs in the summertime by the time the doors open again.

As we step into the living room, I turn to her and shrug apologetically. "I would offer you a drink, but ya know."

She laughs a little—fucking finally—and motions toward the stairs. "Why don't we get you to bed, and I'll be on my way."

Both my brows rise before a slow smirk lifts the corner of my lip—now this shit I can get behind. But before I can decide which line to use, she steps closer and braces herself against me the way she did at Midnight Sun.

"I'm serious, Edward. No innuendo, remember? Now point me to your room," she says, and her voice is all clinical and shit. I don't like it, not one fucking bit.

I take advantage of the position as much as I can without getting scolded and wrap my arm around her shoulder. "That way."

Though I can tell she's surprised I didn't point to the stairs, she doesn't say anything. She just starts guiding me to my room. A flutter of something strange moves through me, but I shake off that unusual bullshit.

When we enter my room, I can't help but watch her as she takes it in. This is my sanctuary. Every single item was handpicked—well the whole penthouse really—by me, and I take special pride in my taste, especially when it comes to this room.

She guides me to the bed and removes herself from my side, prompting me to take a seat. "So you need me to get your PJs or something?"

I stretch out my legs and let the games begin. "You gonna help me get ready for bed?"

Her eyes jump back to mine as she recognizes the challenge in my voice. Her chin lifts, and she crosses her arms, drawing my eyes to the mounds that peek from the top of her tank. "What, you think that'll be an issue for me?"

I lick my lips, and my eyes jump to hers. "I think it'll be an issue for us both."

She fucking snorts. "Not likely."

I widen my arms, motioning to myself. "I sleep in the nude."

You know that moment when you see someone balk—I do, I've seen it a million fucking times—this is it. A flash of shock moves over her face so quickly I almost miss it before she digs in her heels and squares her shoulders, starting in my direction.

I tense, unsure what to expect, but when her hands go to the buttons of my shirt, the tension becomes anticipatory. Her fingers slide down my chest, and my shirt is open and falling from my shoulders before I can even out my breaths. My white silk undershirt is discarded just as fucking swiftly.

Fuck!

The next goddamn thing I know, I'm flat on my back, and her fingers are working my slacks. Even in my current state, the traitor down below makes his preference known, rising to the fucking occasion. But right now, I can't even be bothered to fucking care because as she removes my socks, the thump of my Kershaw Launch 3 as it hits the carpet seems to be the only sound in the room.

Bella's still in her bent position, her eyes on the floor—well, on my knife I'm pretty goddamn sure. But I remain silent, propped on my elbows, watching her. Slowly, she stoops lower, retrieving the weapon and standing to her full height. Her seductive eyes flicker to me then back to the Kershaw before she swipes her thumb, causing the blade to swing open.

My forgotten cock jumps in my Zimmerli black silk boxers, and she takes fucking notice. Her eyes rove over me, burning every inch of my skin, and I'm helpless to stop it—or advance it—so I do what I do best, challenge her.

"Is that it, Bella?" I run my tongue over my bottom lip. The image of her holding my knife is the stuff fantasies are made of.

Her eyes rake up from my already straining bulge ro meet mine. She lifts a brow and closes the knife in one swift move, placing it on the nightstand. "You're not naked yet," she snarks before grabbing my boxers and tugging.

I'm both equally turned on and frustrated, because it's obvious from her attitude that this is as far as I'm getting tonight. I sigh and scoot up, pulling the duvet back and crawling under, allowing all the cottony goodness to envelop me. "You should be glad I'm off my game tonight."

"I'm not a game, Edward. What we did was _ridiculously_ hot, and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't imagined a repeat performance, but I won't be someone's toy either." She looks around and locates my pants, pulling my cell from the pocket and tossing it to me. "Just call Red Dress if those are your intentions."

I search my memory, confused—until it hits me. Angela. I bark a laugh. "Sit, Bella." I pat the bed. "Red Dress' name is Angela, and yes, we were seeing each other—six months ago. I may not be boyfriend material, but I respect the woman I'm seeing by only sleeping with her. Once I'm no longer satisfied, I move on."

"Did you tell her that?" she asks, then quickly adds, "Because she didn't seem to know."

"Trust me, when I'm no longer there, she knows," I respond with a shake of my head. "But that's also the beauty of it. I don't ask for a commitment from her because I know I our relationship will never move beyond the dating stage."

"So, what? Long-term fuck budies?" She snorts.

I reach over and run my fingertip up her arm. "Sometimes long, sometimes short. Depends," I say with a one-shoulder shrug. "But never think that I don't know how to treat a woman. I realize they need attention aside from sexual satisfaction, so I don't think fuck buddy is the proper term."

"So you're a perpetul dater," she says after mulling it over.

"Sure." I shrug. "If you have to classify it, but I have perpetually dated the same woman for almost two years before."

She nods and looks down, watching her fingers as they trace the design on my duvet. "And now?" she asks without looking at me.

"I'm only sleeping with you," I respond truthfully.

Her head jerks up and her eyes narrow. "You've only slept with me once."

I smirk—a full on drunk, pretty-boy smirk. "So far."

She gets up and grabs a decorative pillow, lobbing it at my head. "We'll see. Now get some sleep."

"Wait," I call out, stopping her before she gets to my doors. "Let me call Demetri to give you a ride home." She starts shaking her head, so I sit up and jab my finger in her direction. "Yes! Or I'll get up and escort you myself."

"Fine," she says with a huff.

After the call is made and Demetri's instructions are clear, I crook my finger, hoping to lure her back for a kiss goodnight, but she's having none of it—probably because my mouth tastes like ass.

"Sleep, Edward. I have a feeling I'll be seeing you again."

"It's a date." I smirk and close my eyes, falling asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

* * *

 **Two things:**

 **This Edward is proving more complicated than I expected. He's particular and fancies himself quite a lot; therefore, he expects his chapters to be entertaining simply because he's the one telling them. It's making them a little more difficult to write. Please be patient. You'll never wait more than every other week, though.**

 **ICYMI—I've made my book, Wanted Dead or Alive by Faye Byrd, _free_ again for today only on Amazon. **

**See you in a couple weeks :)**


	8. Flavor of the Month

**Beta'd, as always, by the fab Fran, and pre-read by Ninkita, 2browneyes and Sunshine1220! Thanks, ladies!**

* * *

 **Gore Rating—0**

As my mind begins to stir from the deep recesses of sleep, images begin to flash behind my lids—fucking awesome images; ones so good that I want to linger right here forever. I burrow my head under my Egyptian cotton sheets and allow last night to play through my mind—even though there's a dull fucking ache from the sudden movement.

My memory of Bella on her podium is sublime, and apparently, my cock agrees as it twitches to life down below. I'm almost tempted to give him a go, but I have no fucking intention of defiling my bed like I did my poor couch.

I'll never again be able to sit there.

Though I'd love to stay buried in my cocoon and relive every single goddamn millisecond of the time I spent in her presence, I fucking can't. The stench of my breath as it fills the cavern I've made is choking me to damn death, so I throw the covers back, only to be blinded by the bright ass fucking sunlight streaming through the windows. I bury my aching head in the crook of my arm as the other hand searches for the remote on the nightstand, breathing a sigh of relief as the room begins to darken to a more acceptable level.

As I go to pull back my hand, it brushes against something that isn't normally there, which causes me to squint toward the nightstand. My fucking heart does some kind of bullshit flip in my chest when I realize there's a glass of water with two small, white pills sitting beside it and a small piece of paper.

 _Edward,_

 _Take two of these and call me in the morning._

 _Or whatever._

 _Bella_

There's nothing remarkable about the note, but the fact that she left it at all does all kinds of weird things to my insides. An uncomfortable flutter starts in my stomach and moves up into my chest like a fucking bubble that lodges in my airway, causing me to take a deep breath to dispel it.

I feel like a pussy all of a sudden.

Fuck this shit.

I sit up and snatch the pills and water from the nightstand, wishing I could just fucking ignore them, but my pounding head won't allow it. Swallowing them, I set the glass back down, making sure to bury that little fucking note underneath it—I might even smile when I see the ink run from the moisture.

I snort at my twisted thoughts and get up, heading straight for the bathroom, my hard-on leading the way. I glare at that motherfucker because any attention he might've gotten is now off the fucking table. No woman is going to dictate my self-love action, and this particular woman has already done it once.

The first thing I do is take a long overdue piss, which releases a little of the pressure, before moving to the sink to brush my teeth—twice. After that, I get into the shower and turn the water on cold; the motherfucker deflates like a balloon.

"Take that," I say, rolling my goddamn eyes when I realize I just spoke to my fucking cock.

I shake my fucking head and twist the hot knob before grabbing my Acqua Di Parma shampoo. The familiar scent catches in the steam and wafts upward, helping to clear my head. The water beats against my body, invigorating my achy muscles, and my mind starts looking ahead instead of behind to the lingering fucked-up-ed-ness that was yesterday.

As I cleanse my body, I go through the things I want to accomplish today before seeing Bella—because yes, no matter how pussyish I feel this morning, it's not enough to fucking deter me from going to her. A few phone calls make the list, and so does a trip to visit Alice, but when I think of Emmett, fucking Rose barges in and ruins that shit. I close that box right back up and store it for another day—I'm still too fucking pissed to consider her bullshit right now.

I place my loofah on its drying rack and step under the rainfall shower to rinse my body, allowing the water to wash away my growing anger. I won't let this shit affect me two days in a row. I twist the knobs, a little more forcefully than is warranted, and step out, wrapping one towel around my waist and grabbing another for my hair.

Just as I'm done rubbing the towel through my hair, a loud ding echoes through the sound system. Company. Whoever it is has used their print to let themselves in. And it can only be one of two people. Emmett or my father.

Why the fuck did I give them unlimited access to my penthouse?

I shake my head and toss the extra towel aside, heading for my bedroom door. By the time I'm halfway up the hall, the giggle coming from Esme gives me my answer, and I roll my goddamn eyes. This fucking better be a social visit with her along. I can tolerate their relationship, but business in front of her pisses me the hell off. It's like she's fucked all the sense from his old ass.

As I walk into the room, the sight that greets me causes me to pause. Pop is sprawled on my cum-stained sofa with Esme straddling his lap. One of her hands is clenched in his hair, snatching his head to the side so she can access his neck.

From here, I can see her tongue as it runs along the skin, but she pauses when she realizes I've entered the room, and her eyes flick to me—well, to my fucking chest. I smirk and flex my pecs a couple times. Her gaze jumps upward and my eyes narrow. She licks her lips in invitation, and though I know once a whore, always a whore, this is about more than that.

It's about loyalty.

Her fucking loyalty to the Boss—I'm seriously beginning to question it.

"Get a little fucking respect," I snap, motioning for her to move her ass to the couch. "This is my fucking house, and you'd do well to remember that."

"Edward," Pop says, flicking his eyes between my towel and my face. "Did someone break in and steal all your clothes?"

"Nah," I say as I flop into my chair. "Is my hotness too much for you"—my eyes go to Esme—"or are you worried your goomah will be overly impressed."

She huffs, but I ignore her and focus back on Carlisle, who just throws his head back in a booming laugh. "Oh, I'm sure she'll be impressed. Like father like son, after all."

Jesus fuck! He's trying to shove mental images into my head. I cover my ears and shake my head. "Stop. No talking."

Pop holds up his hands, and I uncover my ears but keep my hands close, just in fucking case. "No worries, son. We have a look but don't touch policy."

I cut my eyes to Esme who's sitting with her tits mashed into his side and a smug-ass look on her face. "Whatever, Boss," I say, lowering my hands. "Just save the macking for when you're alone."

"We were alone," Esme pipes up with her smartass mouth.

"In your own fucking home," I snap, definitely not in the mood to hear her cocky bullshit. "Ho le palle piene!" I grumble, eying Pop.

"Sick of what shit?" he asks with a chuckle, pulling Esme tighter against him—if that's even fucking possible.

I fucking sigh, already foreseeing another shitty day. "Fuhgettaboutit," I say and wave him off since I'm only wasting my fucking breath.

He sits forward then, elbows propped on knees. "We have business to discuss anyway. It isn't going to make you happy either."

I have two thoughts in quick succession. The first is about making sure business is discussed in private, but it's the second that's the scary one. Does he already know about Bella, and if so, what's his response going to be?

As much as I'd like to keep him in a decent fucking mood, I can't help but be wary of his side piece. I shake my head. "Boss, I respect your choices"—my eyes flick to Esme—"but maybe your plus one should go do her morning exercises or some shit."

Esme rubs her hand up my father's chest and twists his face to hers. "Children these days," she says with an eye roll as she puckers her lips. After a sloppy kiss that makes me want to fucking puke, she scoots back and stands, cutting her eyes to me. "I would never betray Carlisle." She turns and sways her ass toward the elevator without another word.

And while that's just goddamn great, I don't miss the fucking fact that she only said Carlisle, not me or even the Outfit. My acceptance of Esme has always been a contentious issue. It's not so much that he has a goomah; I don't begrudge him that one fucking bit—especially considering my mother. But when your pop, who's almost sixty, waltzes in with a twenty-year-old on his arm you can't take it very seriously. Yet we fast forward over two years later, and she's become an extension of him. With each new interaction, though, the closer I fucking look, the less sure I am that her dumb nymphomaniac persona isn't just an act.

By this point, there's only one exit she can make from _this_ life—fucking death, though I'm not sure the Boss would agree.

"You know that was unnecessary," the man himself says, breaking into my thoughts. "Esme doesn't have loose lips, unless of course, I request them."

I bury my head in my hands while he just chuckles. "What the fuck?" I mumble as I rub my face vigorously before giving him an incredulous stare.

"Oh, Edward, don't be such a sourpuss. You're sitting here barely covered, yet it kills you if I make one itty-bitty joke." He spreads his thumb and pointer a centimeter or so apart as he rolls his eyes.

"No son wants to hear about his father's cock in a broad's mouth, even when the fucking woman isn't your mother. Got me?" I jab my finger in his direction to make my point and stand. "Now, want some breakfast or something?"

Pop leans back and rubs his stomach. "I could eat."

"Come on." I tilt my head to the bar. "I'll make omelets, and we can chat."

He stands to follow. "Talk about cock. Why don't you go throw on some clothes first? I can see yours bobbing under that damn towel."

I turn and walk backward a few steps, smirking and giving a little hip-shake. "Bobbing would imply I'm turned on. This is au naturel, Pop."

He snorts and makes a shooing motion. "I know all about it, son. Good genes."

I shake my head and turn back toward the hall as he moves to the bar. I don't know why I even bother trying to one-up his ass anyway. The Boss may be slowly passing the reins over to me, business-wise, but his mind is far from depleted. He can still go with the best of them, as that little verbal sparring match just proved.

Instead of dressing in my suit, because that might take a fucking minute, I grab some basketball shorts and a tee, slipping them on and heading back to the kitchen. Pop is perched at the bar with a glass of OJ sitting in front of him. At my Sub-Zero refrigerator, I grab eggs, ham, tomato, bell pepper, butter and cheese, depositing it all on the counter and reaching to my hanging rack for a couple of nonstick frying pans.

As I work to dice the vegetables and get the pepper in the pan to sweat, I glance to the Boss. "So, what brings you here this fine morning?"

I catch him while he's taking a sip of his juice, and he pauses, setting it down with extra force. "Mexico," he snarls, and fuck, that earlier feeling of my day going down the drain reemerges with the quickness. "Our last batch of coke was cut."

"Fuck!" I snap as I add the tomatoes and ham to the bell pepper. "Did you test it yourself?"

"Of fucking course I did, son," the Boss says, annoyed that I'd dare question him, but I know how this works, and it's generally Cauis who tests our stuff—he's on my shit list. "I've already called Nahuel, too, and I didn't like his response."

My muscles tense, not liking the direction of this fucking conversation, but I continue my work, cracking eggs into a bowl. My focus is entirely on breakfast, intending to wait him out. I don't want to give him any ideas, though I suspect I already know where this is headed. But just in case it's not, I keep my fucking mouth shut.

Just as I pour the eggs into the second pan, the telltale sound of his fingers tapping on the bar meets my ears just before he heaves a heavy sigh. "I think we both know what has to happen."

"I told you we needed a new supplier," I respond casually, using the skimmer to collect the filling and add it to the eggs along with a healthy serving of cheese. I lift the pan, and with a fancy flick of my wrist, the omelet is folded.

"I'd always hoped …" He trails off, and I know what the fuck he hoped, but people are goddamn idiots. Just because the Boss was able to depend on Nahuel's father, it doesn't mean he can depend on him.

I remove the pan from the burner and slice the omelet, slipping each half onto its own plate. Grabbing them up, I move to the bar. "More juice?" I ask, putting off the inevitable.

He fucking knows it, too. "Sit, Edward." He points to my stool with his fork. "I should've let you handle this months ago, but I was too stubborn to listen. Well, no more. Your flight leaves at eleven." He takes the first bite of his omelet, humming at the taste, while I just stare at him in goddamn shock.

"Eleven?" I croak, choked by the anger that surges to the surface for one specific reason.

Bella.

And I can't even show my ass over it.

His eyes narrow as he chews his food thoughtfully. "I suspected you'd be pissed by the impromptu trip, but you seem overly upset. Is there a problem you need to discuss?" His eyes zero in on my fingers that are gripping my fork like a fucking lifeline.

I work hard to release my death grip, which results in the fork clattering to the marble, the sound echoing through the quiet. Swallowing, I choke back every goddamn word I wish I could spew and stand. "No problem," I say, shaking my head. "You could've led with this bit of info, though, so I could actually make my fucking flight instead of spending my morning serving you goddamn breakfast."

"Gotta keep you on your toes." He chuckles and shoves the last bite of his omelet into his mouth before standing and approaching me, gripping my tense shoulder. "You're traveling as Anthony Masen, and of course I've booked you a private jet. Now get packed; Demetri is standing by to drive you to the airport."

I clench my fucking jaw, afraid that if I open my mouth everything I can't fucking say will come rushing out. Instead, I give him a terse fucking nod and walk the fuck away, leaving him to see his own way out.

When I make it to my room, I'm actually goddamned relieved that I didn't waste my time on a suit earlier. I run into the bathroom and grab my travel case of toiletries—there are just some niceties a man can't fucking live without. From there I step into my closet, slipping on a casual pair of loafers. With just these meager items, I make my way back through the penthouse and toward the elevator.

While I travel to the twelfth floor, I access the system and set my prints as the only acceptable method of entry into the penthouse via the control panel. Demetri still holds override power for emergency entrance, but that requires going to him for access.

I smile to my fucking self the rest of the way down.

Anthony Masen, while still affluent, is no-fucking-where near my level of riches—or taste. He's the epitome of a single, successful businessman who purchases nice things, but they're straight from a goddamn rack instead of custom-tailored from the finest materials. My fucking silk boxers cost more than his average suit.

I sigh as I discard my clothes and pull on a pair of less than stellar Calvin Kleins. The rest of my casual outfit, which consists of Dockers and a Polo shirt, is just as unappealing. I step into the bathroom where I insert Anthony's blue contacts, and then I give the bottle of gel sitting on the shelf the fucking stink eye.

By the time I'm dressed and packed, there's absolutely no time for anything else—not that I'd know what to do at ten-thirty in the morning any fucking way. If I hadn't been such a drunken idiot, I would've gotten Bella's fucking number last night—and I can get it within minutes now, don't get me wrong. I'm just not ready to admit to myself—or her—just how far I've already encroached into her privacy.

Or ready to stop.

I growl as I snatch Anthony's H&M Weekend Bag from the bed—boring, just like him.

As the Boss promised, Demetri's expecting me with the trunk of the Mercedes already open, awaiting my bag. I don't even speak as I toss it inside and move to the driver's seat before he can fucking blink. He settles into the passenger side with only a smug-ass side glance. I want to knock that look off his fucking face, but I refrain as I actually like Demetri—most days.

Instead, I use driving as an outlet for my frustration. The car zips through the streets, running through yellow lights and rolling through stop signs. It isn't until I floor it under a red that Demetri finally has enough.

He grips the dash. "Whoa, Boss. How about letting up a little. I've lived a lot of years in this life, and I'd like for that to continue. Besides, getting pulled over right now might not be a good idea."

My leg, which has been tensed against the gas pedal, loosens slightly as he subtly reminds me I'm Anthony Masen, and the speedometer slowly ticks downward. Begrudgingly, I say, "I suppose."

"Last night go bad or something?" he asks, and the fucking fatherly concern I hear in his question sends a spike of irritation surging through me before fucking resignation sets in.

I sigh and ease off the gas a little more. "I told ya last night, she was just seeing me home."

"Right," he says, and he drags it out like he doesn't fucking believe me, but why should he? I don't believe myself.

Last night, though sloppy as fuck on my part, was the first step in a very complicated acquisition. There are so many outlying factors still to be determined, especially considering her fucking father and his parting words. But also, her thoughts themselves. We can only move forward if we're in the same frame of mind, and we haven't spoken enough to make that determination.

And now we won't—for a few days at least.

"It's complicated," I finally answer with a sigh. "She _was_ just seeing me home, but this trip puts off any further contact until I'm back in the US."

"I see." He nods. "That's what has you in such a pissy mood. You usually relish an assignment such as this. Think about what's to come, not what you're missing, and you'll be just fine."

I tilt my head as I consider his words, and deliciously evil images take over my mind. I smirk and cut my eyes to Demetri. "That actually fucking helped," I say, already feeling a little of the rush that comes with the urge to kill. "Thanks."

"Anytime," he replies with a strong grip on my shoulder.

Before I know it, we're on the tarmac and Demetri is handing me my bag from the trunk, along with a hefty file folder. "Here's a dossier of useful information," he says before shutting the trunk and pinning me with serious eyes. "Just come home safely, son."

"Abso-fucking-lutely." I smirk before heading for the steps.

It isn't until I'm comfortably seated with a drink in my hand that I realize I have company for this trip. Though it makes sense on the most basic fucking level, it still irks the fuck out of me. Goddamn Cauis—Anthony's flavor of the month, I presume—comes from the back of the plane and takes the seat directly across the aisle from me.

"Sup, Boss," he says with a chin tilt toward the file in my lap. "What's the plan?"

* * *

 **Good morning, fandom! I've done a little thinking since I saw you last and have decided Operation will post bi-weekly permanently. I'm going to spend my extra time working on another project, and hopefully, some of you will enjoy that as well. I'll share more when the time is right :)**

 **Hmmm, anything specific grab your attention?**

 **I WILL reply to all reviews; I know I've sucked at that lately. Seems the second half of you get the short end of the stick. Well no more!**


	9. Bloodthirsty

**Fran makes me words pretty, and Ninkita, 2browneyes, and Sunshine get to read before you :P Ninkita just completed Summer Rain, 2browneyes is posting Red Ranger, and Sunshine1220 is close to wrapping her first fic, Forged by Fire—you should make sure you check them out!**

* * *

 **Gore rating—4, mostly due to numbers.**

By the time the plane touches down in Puerto Vallarta, Caius and I have poured over the dossier the Boss collected ahead of this trip. As I said, his mind is still top notch, and the Outfit's influence is far-reaching. This information holds access to reliable resources; our cover, manpower, weaponry and transportation assistance, along with a detailed layout of the compound where Nahuel is located.

He's too stupid to know who he's fucking with.

Anthony and Carl are booked into a quiet bungalow nestled on the outer edges of a mid-level luxury resort, just a stone's throw from the beach. Anthony, tired of the daily grind of his fast-paced position, decided a weekend away would do him some good, but he's never one to relax alone. Enter Carl, his preferred company—this fucking trip anyway.

I have to chuckle a little at the goddamn irony of it all. But that's what makes this cover so perfect—he's the complete and total opposite of who I am. If Edward Cullen rolls into town, you can bet your sweet ass every criminal within a hundred-mile radius is aware. Anthony Masen never even gets a second look—though we're fucking identical—aside from his greasy, slicked back hair and blue contacts.

I fucking shiver just thinking about it and refrain from lifting my hand to scrub through the hard mass atop my fucking head.

It'd be a lie if I said I accepted Anthony's credentials with no complaints, but it didn't take Emmett long to paint the right picture for me to accept—you know, the one where the murders I commit stay fucking buried because no one will ever connect us. And that's only _if_ Anthony ever gets pegged for one. I'm nothing if not smart, and it was clear this was an intelligent fucking move. Besides, I'm confident enough in my masculinity to fake a few loving-looking caresses.

My brother's a fucking genius, and yeah I've said it before, but I'm not sure the depth of his skill is truly understood. Not only does everyone in the Outfit have an alternate identity, sometimes two or three, but they all work for companies he's crafted in order to make their backgrounds even more legit. He's created a network of facts interspersed with such fine details that no one could even begin to unravel it. We have a whole fucking community of imaginary Chicagoans at our disposal.

Caius exits from the rear of the plane, his persona now fully in place. His just past the shoulder length blond hair is fastened at the base of his neck, and gone are the jeans and tee he was wearing. In their place are the same type yuppie clothes I've been forced into. I fucking smirk at his ass—with one big difference, his polo is fucking lavender.

Guess we know who's the bitch in this relationship.

When he catches the look on my face, he scowls. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, Boss. We'll see who's laughing later."

Thoughts of later do make my smirk fade, so I stand and grab my bag from the overhead compartment. "Don't get too fucking cheeky, got me?" I say, jabbing a finger in his direction.

He takes a step back and pushes his hands out. But it's that goddamn secretive smile he's sporting that bothers me most. "Hey, I got a part to play here. Can't allow our cover to have any holes."

All the words he's saying are right, but Caius is the motherfucker you better look out for. He's got a mean streak, and I reamed his ass at the last meeting. My eyes narrow. "You touch me inappropriately, and you draw back a fucking nub."

"Understood, Boss," he replies, but that goddamn smile doesn't drop.

I shake my fucking head—this is the last goddamn thing I need.

"When we step off this plane, we're Anthony and Carl, don't forget that," I say and wave my hand for him to precede me down the aisle. As soon as he starts walking, I mumble, "Bitch."

His step falters slightly, but otherwise, he doesn't react. I chuckle under my breath as I follow him down the stairs and onto the tarmac where a mid-size sedan is parked, and a golden-skinned young man is smiling eagerly in our direction.

The attendant approaches carefree and openly, his smile never faltering. Were I still in Edward Cullen mode, this punk would be pissing his britches about now. As it is, Anthony returns his open smile as he holds out a keyring. "Mr. Masen?" he questions with a thick accent. "The keys to your rental, sir."

Taking cues from his approach, I allow my fingers to slowly brush against his as I retrieve the keys, and even with his dark tone, the blush is obvious. "Thanks, José, is it?" At his shy nod, I continue, "We really appreciate the service, meeting us on the tarmac. I'll be sure to give you a glowing review."

He bats his lashes as he rushes to assure me. "No, sir. I enjoy fulfilling my customer's requests." The innuendo in his words is only barely hidden, causing Carl to step closer to my side—as he should. José recognizes his mistake and backs off. "I will meet you both back here Monday morning at ten. Have a great weekend in Puerto Vallarta!"

And because I like to fuck with people, before turning to the car, I wink and tell him _maybe next time_. "Quizá la próxima vez, José."

Though his eyes flit to Carl who's rounding the car, it still doesn't stop him from responding. "Eso sería un placer, Señor Masen," he says, letting me know that it would be his pleasure.

I chuckle and get behind the wheel, tossing my bag into the back seat and then leaving my arm propped on the passenger one as Carl climbs into the car. After sharing a look, I let my hand fall to caress his shoulder as I move to put the car in gear.

As we follow the roadway to exit the tarmac, Caius turns to me with a smirk. "You just might be more comfortable with this than I expected."

I tilt my head. "Of course I fucking am." I make the turn that takes us away from the airport before speaking again. "Anthony has become like a second skin to me, especially when traveling away from Chicago. The more I master who he is, the less chance I have of making a vital fucking mistake. Sit back and watch, and you just might fucking learn something this trip."

"You still drive like Edward Cullen," he says as he grips the dash.

Shit!

I let off the pedal to bring the car down to normal speed. "Some aspects are harder than others, so sue me." I shrug.

Instead of a smart-ass remark, Caius starts laughing loudly. After a moment, he even grabs his goddamn stomach like he needs to contain it or some shit. I tap my fingers on the wheel, annoyed as fuck, until he finally reins that bullshit in some.

"What the fuck?" I ask, sliding my eyes to his, daring him to say something stupid.

He reaches up and what—wipes the tears from his goddamn eyes—before saying, "Sorry, Boss." Another small chuckle erupts, and my fingers twist tighter around the wheel. He holds up a hand. "Now, calm down. It's just that … well … " He takes a deep breath and releases it. "It's easy for you to adapt to Anthony's sexuality, but his driving is a problem."

The car is in complete silence as I take in his comment—not even his breaths are detectable—until a little snort escapes my lips. In my periphery, he relaxes and takes a deep breath. He does make a good fucking point.

"Touché, motherfucker," I snark as I turn into the resort complex where our bungalow's located. "I'm positive it'll never again be an issue. Thanks for the fucking pep talk. Game faces on."

I throw the car in park and get out, abruptly moving around to open Carl's door and follow closely behind as he enters the resort. Check-in is quick and efficient as an affluent American businessman is high fucking priority. I agree to have the concierge meet us at our bungalow to bring in our luggage. Of course, it isn't fucking necessary, but appearances do matter, and we're two men here together to share a fun time—not move our own fucking luggage.

I also accept the offer to book our dinner reservations—eight o'clock on the terrace of their finest restaurant. As we turn to exit the semi-lavish reception area, Carl stops to take in some of the artwork. I do my fucking part by nodding as he comments on a couple of pieces before he grows bored, and we return to the car to pull it to the far edges of the beachfront community.

Our interactions aren't overly affectionate, nor flamboyant in any way, but they're just enough to make it clear we're here as a couple. Our bags are delivered straight to the single bedroom where Carl is already relaxed and attempting to coax Anthony into a pre-dinner nap. Before the concierge leaves, I pull him aside and arrange for a surprise breakfast in bed for my lover.

Dinner is intimate, and I even scoot my chair around to prop my arm over Carl's shoulder—because Anthony's an attentive motherfucker—as I watch the sunset by his side. After the last bit of light has faded over the horizon, I present him with a small gift of appreciation for accompanying me on this trip. In the whole scheme of things, it isn't a big deal, but people are fucking curious, and details such as this stick in their minds. The night ends with a walk down the beach where other couples are doing the same.

Caius grabs a pillow from the bed. "Guess it's the couch for me, eh?"

"Fuck no," I respond with a smirk and flit my eyes to the hardwood floor. "We have to keep up appearances."

His eyes narrow as he follows my line of sight. "What the hell, Boss? Now you're just abusing our cover for your own sick purposes."

I shrug and toss him a thin blanket. "Maybe."

Flicking off the lamp with a chuckle, I rid myself of the less than fucking soft clothes I've been forced into and climb between the sheets—at least they're semi-luxurious. Caius grunts and sighs as he does—whatever the fuck he's doing—before all is finally quiet, and I fall asleep to the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore.

By the time the sun rises, I'm up already and have woken Caius to take his position in the bed as Carl. The doorbell dings right on time, and I answer with only a towel draped around my waist, motioning for quiet as I lead the server to the bedroom to set up. Carl is pretending to sleep, with both his naked chest and left leg on full display.

I smirk to myself when her eyes trail over his form, and then I straighten the fuck up and clear my throat when they stay a moment too goddamn long. She shows both shame and apology when her eyes snap back to me, so I too trail my eyes to Carl and nod appreciatively. Her shoulders relax, and I tip her and send her the fuck on her way.

The rest of our day is spent out and about amongst the community. We dine in the restaurants, peruse the gift shops, spend time in the ocean and even join a game of couple's volleyball on the beach.

Appearances are every fucking thing.

But when the moonless night falls, it's time to let Edward Cullen loose.

Carl and Anthony cap their night with a late beach walk, but this time, it's in the opposite direction. Moving away from the community, we walk swiftly and with purpose toward a pier farther up the shore. At the parking area, a lone, nondescript car sits with keys in the ignition.

For almost two hours we travel through Mexico, headed toward the small city of El Tule. Once there, we stop at a prearranged vacant house to switch cars. The new one is fully fucking equipped; a cache of weapons and dark clothing are stored in a duffel on the back seat.

It's only when we pull off the roadway thirty minutes later to hide the car that we suit up, slipping into black, military-style clothing, including hats and gloves. I mentally go through my weapon's checklist as I attach each one to my fucking body, only keeping the DTA Stealth Recon Scout Sniper rifle in my hands. A backpack adorns my back as we start through the dry Mexican brush toward the lights in the distance.

"So twelve guards plus Nahuel," Caius says, confirming the intel we've already reviewed.

"Six on the perimeter with check-in every fifteen minutes, two each at the front and back doors and the final two inside." I bark a short, abrupt laugh. "He couldn't have made this any fucking easier."

Caius squats and props on a mound of dirt with the binoculars in his hands. "This will be three on two by the time they even know anything's wrong. Fucking idiots."

I move beside him and work a groove in the dirt for my sniper barrel to rest. Peering through the sight, I clock three of the guards before sitting back on my haunches. "Locked and fucking ready. Make sure you don't miss the next check in."

"Got it, Boss," he affirms, never taking his eyes from the targets.

I have to hand it to him; Caius has performed pretty damn perfectly so far. He hasn't even gotten on my nerves yet, and this is the one part where I know he'll excel. As much as I thrive on this shit, he does too. Next to me, he's the coldest motherfucker in the Outfit.

Right now, the blood in my veins is fucking thrumming. Each of my senses are heightened, and I can practically picture their goddamn skulls exploding from the force of my bullets. My hands ache to grip the knife attached to my thigh and send it deep into Nahuel's chest. The monster is lingering on the edges of my subconscious just waiting to take over.

"Check one … two … " Caius starts counting down as the guard checks in, and I line the first target in my sights, clocking every step until he finally says "six."

My fingers squeeze the trigger, moving to the next guy before the first one even falls. The dark silence is barely even disturbed as bodies slump to the ground in quick succession. Once I've counted six, I pull back and wait for the all clear.

Caius takes one more look over the perimeter before standing. "Fourteen minutes and counting."

Without comment, we both start moving toward the block compound in the distance. At the fencing, Caius pulls a pair of pliers from my backpack and goes straight to fucking work. Within a handful of seconds, a large enough portion is open, and we're squeezing through the hole.

I put my fingers to my lips and tilt my head toward the rear of the house. "I'll take the front," I whisper, already fading into the shadows.

The pathway to the front of the building is obscured by darkness—making my job just too goddamn easy. I land with my back against the side of the structure in no time and start moving toward the front corner. I pause when the rumble of two voices meets my ears just seconds before the sound of dirt crunching underneath a boot.

Tensed and ready, I wait.

As soon as the guard makes the turn, his face meets the handle of my sniper rifle, the crunch satisfying something deep inside me. I toss it to the dirt and retrieve the knife that's been burning a hole in my thigh, slicing his throat so deep that death is almost instantaneous.

The monster pulses within me.

Slipping up to the corner, I take a quick peek, locating the second guard just as he rounds the opposite corner coming back in my direction. The outside light is shining brightly on his face, and the confusion over his missing partner is clear even from this distance.

Without a fucking thought, I draw my silenced 9mm as I step out, planting one right between his goddamn eyes. The monster rattles his cage over the swift kill, but tactical moves overrule blood-crazed killing any day. I soothe him with promises of a slow death for Nahuel.

Just as I slip through the wooden door with a fucking eye roll—this motherfucker truly isn't expecting this—a voice crackles to life from the dead guard's walkie. "Registrarse," it says, requesting the guards to _check in_.

I smirk and go back, retrieving it from his hip and reentering the building. After swiftly passing through several uninhabited rooms, I find a quiet corner and bring the walkie to my mouth. "Diez muertos, tres más para ir," I say, giving them the death count, including how many more are on the list.

Chaos ensues as frantic voices can be heard due to failure to release the fucking button on their end. "Entregarlo," comes a command _(hand it over)_ before an attempting-to-sound-brave voice demands to know who I am. "¿Quién es este."

Instead of responding, I throw my head back and chuckle loudly. "Nahuel, you should've been expecting me."

His quick intake of breath is evident before he says, "Cullen." The Ls roll off his tongue in the same way I'm going to punish him.

Slow and angrily.

The swoosh of a bullet as it leaves a silencer meets my ears, and I tense, waiting to hear the satisfying thwack of it meeting flesh. Instead, the sound of automatic gunfire echoes through the hallways as a hail of bullets spatter along the concrete about twenty feet away.

"I'm coming for you," I snarl and toss the walkie to the floor, stomping on it to let out a little pent up rage as I move toward the fucking action.

Instead of grabbing the large knife from earlier, I pull a slim, double-edged knife from my beltloop holster and move toward the hallway up ahead. Bullets are being exchanged by both sides, and because I know weapons, it's easy as fuck for me to determine how many more steps the guard needs to take before he's in striking distance.

Patience isn't my strong suit—especially with the monster rattling his bars—but I stand quietly, my ears in tune with the shots as they inch closer and closer to the hall I'm occupying. The tip of an automatic rifle enters my sight, and the monster goes fucking irate, but I hold him back just long enough. After another spray of bullets, a black boot appears a half second before a dark head of hair.

I release the fucking monster, and he responds with a kick so hard to the side of the guard's knee that the bone cracks in two. When he falls in my direction, I slap the gun to the floor while looping my forearm around his neck and dragging him back into my hallway—lest Caius let any more fucking bullets fly.

His eyes are wide as his head turns red from the blood I've trapped there. "Where's Nahuel?" I demand, my lips at his ear.

"Por favor, no me mates. Tengo una familia," he says, begging for his life, using his family for an excuse. "Por favor," he mumbles over and over, until I bring my knife up and push the blade against his throat.

"Where. Is. He?"

"Sótano," he finally utters, relaxing back against me.

The monster smiles from ear to fucking ear and places the tip of the knife on the skin under his lobe, slicing one long smooth streak all the way around to the opposite side. I drop his gurgling body to the floor and peek around the corner where Caius is propped with an appreciative grin across his lips.

"Basement," I bark, already making a right and expecting him to fall in fucking line. With the monster on the loose, my pulse is throbbing in my ears as blood surges through me in the form of a swift urge to kill.

My eyes are laser focused ahead while my ears listen intently for any sound other than the quiet rustle of our clothes as we move down the hall toward the back of the house. Every door is pushedopen and the room cleared before moving on. When we reach the kitchen, there are two doors on the opposite wall as well as a short hallway that leads to the very back door where Caius entered.

A single dead leg is poking from the entrance to the hall, and I tilt my head, sending Caius to clear it—a-fucking-gain—while I move to the first wooden door. Carefully, I pull it open to reveal a small fucking pantry. Both Caius and I eye the other fucking door.

Now, this is where it gets a little fucking dicey.

There are two fucking men down the steps behind that small wooden door, and if they have any goddamn sense, they'll both be fucking armed. Descending a set of rickety wooden steps in a narrow setting is suicide, so I slip my 9mm from its holster and rip the wood to shreds with the spray of bullets. The resulting hole is dark and uninviting, but I smirk when Caius produces a flashlight with a monster beam and aims it into the darkness.

As predicted, the steps are small and wooden, leading to a dirt floor with cardboard boxes stacked as far as I can fucking see. Underneath his super bright beam of light, Caius is holding his gun in a standard cop position where it's braced below the light. He squeezes the trigger and sprays the area beneath as we descend the steps, one right after the other.

Just as my foot touches the dirt, a bullet ricochets off the cement block wall and finds purchase in the wood post right beside my fucking head. The monster tabulates the direction it flew from swiftly and retaliates with eight rounds from the 9 mil. I then take three long strides and duck for cover just as the next few bullets fly—I say few because this fucker can't fire more than three every twenty goddamn seconds.

When I lean out to spray another round, I pause, because that goddamn Caius is farther up the line of boxes, standing behind the last guard with a knife to his neck—the monster recognizes the evil glint in his eye. I stand taller and stride in his direction.

"Kill him. Nahuel can't be far," I order as I move past them to see one more wooden door.

By the time I reach it, Caius is already flanking me, so I stand back and let him enter first—if someone's going to get shot, ya know? Caius bursts through, gun and super beam leading the way. When no shots ring out, I step in behind him. Huddled in a corner, with only a machete for protection, is Nahuel.

The monster rejoices at the pathetic fucking sight, and I holster my gun before stalking toward the whimpering excuse of a man. "Stand the fuck up," I order as I reach down, knocking the meager weapon across the floor, and snatch him up by a handful of hair.

The tears that are streaming down his face along with the constant prayer he's mumbling should give me pause, but it fucking doesn't. Not in the least. It only builds the monster up, makes him even more bloodthirsty.

"Your first mistake was cutting my shit," I say very slowly, "but it's thinking that twelve men could fucking protect you that will ultimately cost you your life."

The distinct sound of a gun cocking comes from behind me. "Make that twelve men and one woman."

* * *

 **Just wanted to take a minute to thank those who take the time to review my story. I write what I like and hope others will like it, too, but I have to be honest and say that it's the reviewers who give my fingers the urge to type. Without you, I can guarantee I wouldn't have written this many stories for the fandom. Your kind thoughts inspire me :)**

 **I've been a busy little bee, and will try to see you a little sooner than 2 weeks if I get this next one finished today!**


	10. Finally F-ck-ng Home

**My beta, Sunflower Fran, has started a new project with the support of her group, Pay It Forward. It's her goal to seek out new writers and offer them the help they need to put themselves out there. Not just her services as a beta, but all the support a new author needs. PIF has amazing ladies who will help with banners, pre-reading and a built-in network of readers ready to give your story a try. So if you've considered writing, or have a few things stashed on your PC, this is a wonderful network of support. Please feel free to contact me or Fran, and come join the group if you might be interested :)**

 **My lovely prereaders are Ninkita, 2browneyes and Sunshine1220! Thanks so much, ladies!**

* * *

 **Gore rating—5 (less death, but a little more** _ **hands on**_ **)**

The monster scratches and snarls as I push him back into his fucking cage so the cold, calculating part of my mind is in control. This voice is familiar to me, from long ago, but then it wasn't laced with age and anger.

Slowly, my fist unclenches, and Nahuel drops to the floor like a dead weight. "Maria," I say as I hold up my hands beside me and turn to the voice. The tip of her sawed-off, single-barrel shotgun is smashed into Caius' cheek.

I give her a smug grin and relax my stance. "One bullet, two men. Seems you're at a disadvantage here."

She laughs, but it's more of a cackle—enough to rattle my fucking ear drums—and moves suddenly. Her arms swing back, and she lands the butt of the shotgun to the back of Caius' neck. He drops to the floor like a sack of fucking bricks.

My eyes narrow at the old bitch. "So this is how you wanna play?" I widen my arms, ready to tackle her ass from here, but a move in my periphery catches my attention.

Nahuel—I'd almost forgotten his fucking ass.

My mind is calculating as I pull out my knife and pin the tip to his temple. "Maybe you should've kept your hostage," I say, pushing hard enough to break the skin, sending blood trickling from the wound. "Now, you're at the fucking disadvantage."

A snaggletooth smile forms on her wrinkly ass face. "Kill him, see if I care. I warned him, but he wouldn't listen." She cuts her dark, hate-filled eyes to Nahuel, who's trembling from head to fucking toe. "Such a sad little waste. I had big dreams for us, boy, and you went the stupid route. The Cullens bring death to everything they touch." She spits a giant fucking loogie at his feet. "This is your punishment for not listening to me."

I smirk—since she insisted—and brace my free hand on his head before driving the knife into his temple until the handle comes flush. His body tenses against the intrusion before slowly falling limp. I release him, and he slumps sideways to the floor.

Not as slowly as the monster would've liked, but somehow deeply fucking satisfying. "Guess we're even now." I shrug and bring my hands together in front of me, appearing completely relaxed—though I'm just waiting for the moment when I can snap her scrawny, brittle neck.

Her eyes flit to Caius before coming back to me. "Not quite," she says, squatting beside him while keeping the shotgun pointed my way.

She brushes her fingers through his hair like a deranged old bat. "He sure is a pretty one. I hate to have to kill him, but he's just another Cullen casualty."

Stretching out her arm, she grabs the machete Nahuel was holding earlier—right at her goddamn feet, no less—so I make every effort to distract her. "So what's this all about, Maria? I haven't seen you since before college."

She snorts. "Yeah, that's how the fancy-pantsy Cullens are. Don't mind giving us their blood money in exchange for drugs, but when we really need them, they abandon us. Amun, God rest his soul"—she does the sign of the cross while still holding the machete—"always did right by you people, even when I tried my best to get him to cut you loose."

I refrain from rolling my eyes as it's very fucking apparent she's bitter over something. "My father and Amun had a great relationship."

She reaches over and grabs Caius' ponytail, holding it taut so that she can use the machete to saw it off just above the hair thingy. I might even feel a little rush of glee when she dangles it in front of her face for a closer inspection—it always has looked stupid as fuck.

She tosses it to the dirt at her feet. "I'm sure their relationship was great if your name was Cullen, but all it ever brought us was trouble from the cartels. He asked for help, but your father never provided it. And now he's dead." She shakes her head sadly, but this hag isn't sad, she's out for blood. "If Nahuel would've listened to me, we could've built a grand enterprise."

My muscles are tense and at the ready, though I appear calm as a fucking cucumber on the outside. "He never had a chance."

She runs the machete along Caius' back like a loving caress—any minute she's going to drive it through him. When she fists his hair and yanks, exposing his neck to the blade, I react, diving across the few feet that separate us and tackling her to the dirt. The machete falls away, but she's quick. By the time we've landed, she's produced a knife and delivered a sweeping slash across the top of my left shoulder blade, slicing through the backpack strap and down toward my underarm.

It burns like fucking hell, but I ignore the pain and grip her wrist, beating her hand against a random chair that we knocked over during the scuffle. The knife falls, and I position one knee against her throat while I grab her middle three fingers and snap them motherfuckers in half. She howls, but I laugh in her fucking face and reposition myself, wrapping both hands around her neck and squeezing. She chokes before her mouth falls open in a silent scream, her uninjured hand flapping uselessly against my arm. Her face starts to flush, and her struggling becomes more sluggish the longer she goes without air.

When I'm sure she's out fucking cold, I stand and grab my 9 mil, sending two shots straight into her skull. Then I go over and nudge Caius with my foot—a little fucking harder than necessary, but who cares?

He slowly sits up, grabbing the back of his head—probably because of the pain radiating from there, but he gets a fucking surprise. "What the fuck!" He jumps up, his hands going crazy trying to find that missing ponytail.

I bark out a laugh—mostly because I'm a cruel motherfucker. "Maria took it as a souvenir." I tilt my head to the bundle of hair lying in the dirt.

His wild eyes focus on it before roaming the room, taking stock of the two assholes I've already killed. "You do all this?"

I give him a fucking look as I widen my arms. "Who the hell else?"

He shakes his head a little, trying to get his fucking shit together. "So what now?"

"We torch the place," I snap—like we originally goddamn planned. "Did you get fucking amnesia or something?"

He shakes his head again, giving himself a little smack—like that'll fucking help. "Got it, Boss. The accelerant."

Since this is a block structure, we're going to have to be meticulous when it comes to making sure it burns sufficiently enough to destroy all the evidence. Not that Mexico has top-notch forensics to begin with, but I never do a job half-ass, no matter where I am.

I swing the dangling backpack around to my front and pull open the small zippered pocket. It's imperative that I keep all my blood in my person, as much as humanly fucking possible. My fingers dig around until they close on the small tube I insisted be a part of my accessory kit.

I pull it out and hold it up. "First I need you to seal this wound." I turn and squat a little, giving him my shoulder.

"Shit!" he curses as he lifts the shirt, ripping it from the dried blood and looping the material over my shoulder. I wince slightly, and he uses his gloved fingers to open the little tube of super glue, snapping the tip off with his front teeth. "This is gonna sting, Boss."

I speak between clenched teeth. "Just fucking do it."

It takes another minute before I feel anything, but when I do, my whole goddamn shoulder lights up like it's on fire. "Son-of-a-bitch."

It's like I can feel every single cell of my fucking skin melting back together, and it's more painful than actually being fucking cut. Blowing deep, steady breaths, I work through the worst of it until the raging burn turns into a constant, manageable sting.

I shove my shirt back down over my back and toss him the backpack. "Grab the accelerant and torch. Let's burn this motherfucker to the ground."

We start in the basement, which is easy as hell because of all the fucking cardboard. That shit is flammable as fuck, making this room the easiest part of our job. With flames licking toward the ceiling, we toss any used weapons into the flames and move upstairs. One at a time, we douse a room with a small bit of accelerant and light it the fuck up—the bodies get their own individual sprinkle.

By the time we exit through the front door, smoke is pouring through the heat-busted windows as an orange glow begins to light the area around the house. Caius grabs the cutters and heads for the fence in the opposite direction we came in from, cutting a large opening. He does the same along the back fence before we exit the same as we entered.

It's two in the morning by now, and with a two and a half hour trip left before we get back to Puerto Vallarta, time is of the fucking essence. Yet, there's still another important step to take. Caius heads to the trunk of the car while I scout around, using his super beam, for a nice spot to dig.

When he returns with a short-handed shovel, I point to the spot. "Dig here, and be quick about it. Time's a fucking ticking."

He huffs as he gets to his knees and shoves the shovel into the dry dirt intent on his mission. Ten minutes later, he has a hole big enough for what we need. "I think this'll do," he says as he tosses the shovel into the hole.

I toss the backpack down first, sans the accelerant, and then start disrobing while Caius does the same. Every stitch of our clothes, aside from three items, goes into the hole: our gloves, hats and Calvin Kleins. Standing almost bare, we use the last bit of accelerant before tossing a match to ignite it all into a fucking ball of flames.

It's almost therapeutic, watching it all burn to a pile of ash. The monster himself takes a victory lap, as if he's the sole motherfucker responsible for every life we took tonight. But I digress. Word gets around, and people need to be reminded who they're fucking with from time to time.

After the hole is filled in, Caius and I re-dress, returning to Anthony and Carl—aside from my fucking souvenir—and get back to the bungalow only thirty minutes before sunrise. Since my shoulder's been marred, I'm the one who lazes around in bed as breakfast is delivered while Caius parades around in his Speedo and a swimming cap—hiding his new hairdo.

Our only other meeting this trip consists of dinner at a fancy joint in Puerto Vallarta proper with an old contact, Zafrina, and her partner, Renata. After a terse debate, we're able to come to a reasonable—especially for the Outfit—agreement. Her _organization_ is responsible for getting the shipments across the border to my guy Felix, and he makes sure they make it to Chicago.

By the end of dinner, my shoulder is burning and I'm tired as hell, so any couple-y activities are off the table. I'm going to fucking bed and dreaming of only good things. Well, one good thing if my mind can even make a reproduction—it's been goddamn days since I last saw her.

When I fall into bed, it's like I fall into a goddamn black hole, and when Caius shakes me awake the next morning, my head is still groggy from the fucking dreamless slumber. I dress in a daze, my mind computing that I'm heading home, yet my body remains sluggish and tired.

I don't even have the energy to flirt with José as I return the rental—and, oh yeah, he's eagerly awaiting me. All I can do is offer a wink as I turn to walk away. My fucking shoulder is sore as hell, and I can't wait to kick back on this fucking plane and just finish my goddamn nap—I need to be rested and ready when we hit Chicago.

One minute I'm relaxed back in my luxury airline seat, Bella dancing between my parted knees, and the next, a searing pain radiates from my shoulder, moving down through my fucking chest. I react instantly, bringing my free hand up to grab at whatever's fucking stabbing me, but meet flesh instead—someone else's flesh. Driven by both agony and a building anger, I clamp onto the offending arm and bring it down, twisting so that the wrist is bent to its breaking point.

As my mind struggles to overcome the distress, a voice breaks into my consciousness. "It's gonna snap, Boss. Please, it's me. It's Caius."

Though my eyes are open, everything is fuzzy, and my singular focus is on the offending appendage I'm about to break. But his voice slowly breaks through as the urgency level rises, and I'm finally able to loosen my grip.

My eyes dart to his face. "What the fuck did you do!" I yell, shoving him away from me and standing. My knees almost buckle from the stab of pain that moves down my chest. I grip the back of the seat in front of me to stay upright. "Ahhh, it fucking hurts." I grab my chest and crumble back into my seat.

Caius disappears, to where I can't even be bothered to fucking care—my shoulder is throbbing, and my head is light. I'm not sure how long I sit there, but at some point, Demetri's voice breaks through the haze.

"Edward," he calls, touching my leg, forcing my eyes to pop open. "We've got to get you up, son. Okay?"

I blink a couple times and focus on his face before offering a nod. "Sure," I respond, my voice gruff due to my fucking dry ass throat.

When he reaches to help me, I physically withdraw, the memory of the pain from earlier cemented in my mind. "I got it."

He looks at me skeptically before taking a step back, where I can now see Caius lingering behind him with concern lacing his fucking eyes. "Gesù Cristo," I say as I stand on shaky legs. "You two need to get a fucking life."

Though I'm standing, even I can admit that something is fucking wrong. Judging from the pain that's radiating from my upper back, I'd even fucking venture to say that bitch Maria left her goddamn mark. A low growl escapes, but neither of these motherfuckers are deterred. They both follow me—like I might fall out at any fucking second—off the plane and onto the tarmac, where Demetri has the Mercedes waiting.

He scurries ahead and pulls the back door open, and because I feel like shit, I don't complain. I pretty much dive inside, making sure to keep my left shoulder from bumping anything. With a face full of black leather, I allow the soothing hum of the engine to lull my mind as the car races away.

"Edward." Demetri's voice rouses me from the light nap I lapsed into for the drive. I lift my head a little and recognize the scene outside the car. "Doc's inside waiting on ya."

Though I'm not very happy to be here, specifically, I can't deny the need to see Doc. Lifting up as much as the car will allow, I slide my body over until both my feet are on the asphalt driveway. I take a fucking minute to get my shit together before standing. The walk in is okay—I can do it without help—but the fucking pain that radiates from my shoulder is blistering.

When Caius falls into step beside me, I roll my fucking eyes. "What the hell?"

He throws his hands up in front of him. "Don't mind me, Boss. Just making sure ya don't die on my watch."

If I could chuckle without shaking my sore shoulder, I would, but as it is, I offer what I hope is a smirk. "Consider yourself off the hook."

"Yeah, I don—"

"We had a good trip. Don't fucking ruin it," I interrupt, all traces of humor gone.

"Got it, Boss. Later." He turns and heads back in the same direction we came from.

I follow Demetri down the familiar hallways of my childhood home, hoping like hell that Mother doesn't know I'm here—or even better, she's not home. When he stops outside my father's office, my brows hike up my forehead.

"Pop is here?" I ask, a little stunned. Not that he never comes here, because he does. It's just usually during the day when Mother is out doing all her high society bullshit. Maybe I did get lucky, and she's not home.

Demetri doesn't reply, he just turns the knob and pushes open the door. Inside sits Doc, the Boss … and my fucking mother.

Shit!

"Darling," she drawls, in her "acquired" snobby accent. "What have you done to yourself. You look dreadful."

"Thanks, Mother," I reply as I move to sit in the empty wingback chair Doc's positioned in front of him.

"Elizabeth," Pop says in his most patronizing tone. "As you can see, he'll live. So if you'll excuse us … " He leaves the sentence hanging, but she knows it's best to comply.

With an exaggerated sigh, she stands and strolls over, kissing my cheek. "Be more careful." Her fingers go for my chin, grasping it between them. "You could always take over as charity head and leave this viciousness behind."

I shake my head, effectively snatching my chin away. "Mother, you know this argument is just that—a fucking argument. And frankly, I'm not up to it at the moment. I feel like shit."

She bristles visibly, but holds her tongue. With a shrewd head to toe glance over me, she huffs and turns, leaving me in some fucking peace. I drop my head back against the chair with a sigh.

"What the fuck, Pop?"

His voice is exasperated when he speaks. "She was here, and this was a little impromptu."

Doc waves his hands over me. "What we talking?"

"Knife cut to my left shoulder blade," I reply, already sitting forward, trying to peel my shirt up some, but the goddamn pain intensifies tenfold. "Cazzo di Budda!"

As I'm writhing in pain, Pop stands and takes one big swipe across his desk, clearing everything that's on top of it. My eyes jump to his at the sudden noise of all his shit crashing to the floor.

"Again, what the fuck?"

He motions to the flat, wooden surface. "With the way you're acting, I think we need a makeshift work table. Get over here."

I stand and lean over the desk until my entire upper body lies across it with my back on display. The next thing I know, two motherfuckers are working on me. Pop is sliding a pair of scissors up the back of the pansy-ass yellow Polo, and Doc is already looking for a vein.

"I'm gonna hook you up with some antibiotics, and do you want a painkiller, too?" Doc asks as he gets a pouch of solution out of his bag.

"Tylenol?"

He makes a whistling sound as he looks over my wound. "It's actually sealed up nice. But it looks as if some fibers from your shirt are caught in there, which is most likely causing the infection. Super Glue?"

"Had to improvise," I say, the pain reminding me that shrugging is out of the fucking question.

"I'm gonna have to reopen it, clean it and reseal it—with surgical glue this time." He lifts a smartass brow in my direction. "Think you can handle the pain? The antibiotics will start helping with the infection almost instantly, but the soreness will be much better by tomorrow night."

"Can't you fucking numb the skin or some shit?" I ask, not liking the idea of toughing it out with nothing at all.

He shrugs. "Sure."

"Well let's do that and the antibiotics."

Doc gets to work as Pop settles in his chair behind the desk. "I was surprised to hear Maria was anywhere around Nahuel." He reaches down and grabs a cigar and his Zippo from the floor. "I thought she'd be retired to a cushy villa somewhere."

I snort. "Well, you thought wrong. That crazy old bat was out for blood; Cullen blood."

The Boss lights his cigar, his face pensive as he takes a couple puffs, releasing the smoke off to the side—thank fuck. "Interesting," he finally utters, and that's it—that's the only fucking thing he says.

I file that away to ponder when I'm not in so much pain, and from the corner of my eye, I notice Doc jab a needle into the port of my IV. "What's that?" I ask, because the antibiotic is already being administered.

"Relax, Edward. It's just Ibuprofen. I know ya didn't want anything heavy, but this'll help while not fucking with ya head. Like Tylenol." He shrugs and digs into his bag, setting out a few supplies.

When his gloved hands move toward my back, I brace myself for the blinding pain I'm sure is to follow—and it comes. It's not quite as forceful as earlier, but still enough to make me clench my fucking jaw and let out a low groan. The whole process carries on in just that manner. Low groans and grunts along with tense muscles and the occasional "fuck" here and there—well, more than occasional, but that's just me.

What's interesting, though, is by the time he's done, I actually feel a little better. Sure, my shoulder is throbbing like my goddamn cock does when I watch Bella dance—only it hurts like a son-of-a-bitch. But my head is actually less foggy than it was when I first arrived.

Pop never does expand any on the Maria incident, and frankly, I'm just too ready to get home to even give a fuck enough to ask. I will ask, though. It'll just have to be another day. I leave his office, only to smile when Demetri's waiting on the other side of the door, holding up an old Polo he must've grabbed from my room.

"Thought you might need this," he says, passing it over.

I take it with a nod and slip it over my head, spewing only a few grunts and curses. "One more ride as Anthony, thank fucking God." I roll my fucking eyes, ready to be in my own home, dressed in my own clothes right the fuck now.

"When we get back to Cullen Place, you just head on up to the penthouse. I'll make sure Anthony's stuff is taken care of and then check on you in a bit," he says as we make our way back toward the Mercedes.

After settling in the passenger seat, I shake my head. "You know that's not how it works. I need to finish the trip as Anthony."

His voice is stern when he responds. "Not this time. I said I'll take care of it, and I will." He's quiet for a second seeing if I'll argue, but I don't. I want to be back in my own skin so fucking bad that I'm willing to risk it this once. "Besides, there's nothing like walking into your home after a trip like the one you've just had. You can thank me later." He gives me a weird little side-eye, but what-the-fuck-ever.

He's right. Just this once.

"My gloves and hat are in my luggage. Make sure they're incinerated."

The rest of the ride is spent in silence, and I've never been so fucking relieved to pull into my parking garage as I am when we finally fucking do. These fucking contacts are starting to dry my eyes, and this mass of gunk on my hair makes my head feel ten fucking times heavier than it is.

"Thanks, Demetri. You're a life saver," I offer as I pull open the door and step my achy-ass body from the car.

He chuckles and mumbles something under his breath I don't quite catch, but that's o-fucking-kay. I can verbally spar with him another day.

The ride up the elevator is more soothing than it has ever been, mostly because I'm so goddamn desperate to be Edward Cullen again.

The elevator ding is like music to my fucking ears.

And the sight that greets me when the doors open is heart-stoppingly beautiful—and pissed, too, if I have to guess.

I smile because I can't fucking hold it back.

"Bella."

* * *

 **I've been super busy, but I've also found the time to work on Operation. Next chapter will post, not next week, but early the following one. So 10ish days. Lots of juicy BxE to come ;)**

 **Since this is a Friday post, replies will only be to those I can make it to today. I figured you'd rather have the chapter more than the replies—I hope!**

 **See you soonish :)**


	11. Monster Inside Me

**I think we all know this crew by now, but just in case—Fran is the beta. 2browneyes, Ninkita and Sunshine pre-read for me!**

* * *

 **Gore rating—0**

Her posture is tense as she stands with her hand propped on her hip, but as she takes me in, her head tilts and her stance softens. Her eyes jump to the fucking clump on top of my head before moving down to settle on mine.

There's an imperceptible widening, but she contains it nicely. "Edward," she says with a brow lift, and even that is enough to make my cheeks hurt I'm smiling so goddamn wide.

"Not quite." I smirk and take a step in her direction. My fingers are tingling as they anticipate the feel of her skin. "But I will be soon."

She takes a step backward for each one I take forward, frustrating me to hell and back. I've _been_ to hell and back. Coming home to her standing in my penthouse was never even a thought, but now that she is, I just want to fucking touch her—and change clothes—but one urge overrides the other.

I take a larger step, coming to a stop just a foot in front of her, and when she starts to shuffle back, I reach out and grab her arm. "Please don't." My voice is strained due to the energy that courses between us. "I need something good right now."

She pauses, her dark eyes more open and inviting than they were when I first arrived. "Why do you look like that?"

My eyes fall closed at the fucking reminder—Anthony Fucking Masen—a pain in my ass this go round. I release my tight grip on her arm and run my hand up to her shoulder as I take a step closer. That energy from earlier zaps at my palm, but it also arcs to fill the small space between our bodies.

"I've been away," I hedge, hoping it's enough for her, but the slight narrowing of her eyes tells me that it's a fucking no. "For business." I lift a brow to accentuate my meaning.

It takes a couple seconds, but realization dawns and just a tiny bit more of her attitude fades the fuck away. My hand trails from her shoulder down her back to the small dip at her waist, pulling her even closer. Now, there're only inches between us, and it feels fucking glorious.

My eyes automatically jump to her mouth when it opens. "It's been days," she says, and her tongue peeks out to wet her lips, driving me fucking mad.

"I'm sorry, Bella." I don't know if I'm apologizing for leaving without telling her—because I fucking am—or if I'm apologizing for what I'm about to do. But either way, I _am_ sorry.

I don't hold back, even though I probably should. I'm not even myself right now, but I can't be bothered to fucking care. She's everything I never hoped would be waiting in my home, and I don't have the strength to resist her lure.

My lips make a soft pass, and when she doesn't slap me, I attempt it again, only this time, my tongue dances along the seam that's keeping me from invading her entirely. A soft sigh escapes and I take advantage, thrusting my tongue inside her mouth to tangle with hers. And goddamn, just like every other time we've been in this position, she's all fucking in. Her hands grip at me fiercely, moving across my chest while a fucking primal battle rages between us.

It isn't until she wraps her hands under my arms and claws at my back, her fists tightening in the material of my shirt, that we run into a fucking problem. Well, I'm the goddamn problem—I jerk away, yelping like a little bitch, while she stands there panting and staring at me like I've lost my goddamn mind.

"Fuck!" I curse to mask the pain. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" I stumble my way toward the sofa, ridiculously pissed at myself for getting sliced by a crazy old hag. I almost flop down, until images of my cock spurting cum all over it stops me—that motherfucker _has_ to be burned.

I make a last-minute move toward my chair, causing even more pain to shoot down my chest and arm. I land with the right side of my fucking face crammed into the back while gripping my left arm, just fucking praying that the pain will lessen to only a throb.

"Edward, what is it?" Bella's voice is panicked as she loiters near the chair, unsure whether to approach me or not.

"Goddammit." I breathe through the pain, pushing that shit down as much as I possibly can. "Just give me a minute," I finally pant.

I don't see where she goes because my eyes are fucking squinted as I work to overcome the burn, beat it the fuck back, get control of the misery that is my body right this moment. I'm not sure how long it takes, but fucking finally it begins to lessen, and I'm able to slow my erratic breaths. My eyes open, and I lift my head.

At first, I don't see her, which sends its own surge through me—panic—it almost hurts just as goddamn bad. But as I swivel my head, her form fills my periphery, and then I'm looking at her completely.

She's huddled on my sofa—yes, the fucking cum-stained one—wringing her hands and casting me wary glances. "Bella," I say on a fucking sigh, positioning myself in an upright position and shifting to one side as much as I'm able. "Come here." I tilt my head to the vacant arm of my chair—the right fucking side, of course.

She's so timid in her approach that a swell of guilt blooms in my gut. I was so desperate to have her in my arms, and then to invade her so thoroughly that she'd give in, that I pushed my ailments aside. I pulled her into a situation that she had no chance of winning, because I wasn't physically ready for her response.

My head lulls back, and I widen my arm in invitation for her fantastic ass to cuddle into the crook. "Please sit. It won't hurt."

Her expression is dubious, but it doesn't stop her from gently perching on the arm of the chair, where I immediately close my arm around her and lean my head against her back.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, mostly because I'm too busy inhaling the scent of her laundry detergent. "We should probably talk."

"What happened, Edward?" she asks as she twists so she can pin me with inquisitive eyes, but she's not being bitchy like you'd expect; she's truly concerned.

"Fuck, Bella," I say, her goddamn eyes hypnotizing me with our faces this close together. "I'm not sure what I should say, hell, what I even can say. It's fucking complicated as hell, and I'm not sure you really even _want_ to know."

She lifts her arm but pauses, eyeing my right shoulder. "Am I going to hurt you again?"

"As long as you stick to the right, it should be okay," I reply, and she props her arm across my shoulder.

Her fingers brush the mass on my head, and her eyes spark with amusement as they flick to mine and then back to my head. The hard glob prevents me from enjoying her touch, and it pisses me the fuck off. Slowly, she works her fingertips between the dry clumps finally reaching my scalp. I fucking sigh it feels so goddamn good.

Absently, she strokes back and forth as she gathers her thoughts—she's cute as fuck, looking all contemplative and shit. "So let's talk about what we can then. You're hurt. Where exactly?"

"That's fair," I agree, nudging my head deeper into her hand. "Don't stop." My eyes fall closed as her fingernails scratch against my scalp, but when I forget to fucking speak, she balls her hand into a fist. My eyes jump open. "Okay! Sorry, shit!" She smirks and gets back to work. "It's my left shoulder. A cut. It wouldn't be so painful if it weren't for the small infection that developed before I made it home."

"Did you go to the hospital?" she asks, those dark eyes once again peering at me with concern.

I give a little head shake—not enough to move away from her fingers, though. "I saw a doctor, if that's what you're asking."

"That's what took so long," she says absently with a little nod to herself.

I perk up, making sure to follow this little lead. "How long _did_ it take?"

Her lips purse slightly while she considers her response. "Over three hours," she says as her brows furrow. "But why aren't you asking me how the fuck I got in your penthouse?"

A loud bark of laughter erupts from my lips, simply because she does her best Edward Cullen imitation for the last half of her sentence. "There's only one possible answer to that question, so I already know. The real question is whether I'll be thanking him or whacking him for it."

"Definitely not whacking," she says, narrowing her eyes playfully.

I lift my hand from where it's been cupping her delectable ass and bring it up to run the length of her hair. "No, definitely not whacking."

Instead of responding right away, she just stares. And we're stuck. The space between us starts to fill with that familiar spark that's already gotten us in trouble once tonight. It's so fucking hard to ignore. Instead of backing away, I find myself pushing closer, willing to be consumed by the fire no matter the consequences.

Bella allows our lips only the slightest of touches before she gets her shit together and balks, fisting my hair and pulling away. "We've already proved that isn't an option for tonight."

I lick my dry, kiss-thirsty lips. "What are our options?"

"How about we go back to questions because I do have an important one," she says, giving me the bitch brow.

Knowing I'm walking into a trap, I give her a nod to continue.

Instead of maintaining her attitude, though, she looks off past my shoulder as she speaks. "I thought, even though you were drunk, that we'd made some progress last time we were together. I even, foolishly I suppose, thought you'd come looking for me … at the very least." Her eyes jump back to mine, and the hurt I see there is more than a tad bit disturbing. "I can see you've been doing whatever it is you do, but would it have hurt to send a text, a phone call, a message at the club, something?"

My heart slams against my ribcage because I felt the same fucking way. I _wanted_ to call her. I just didn't want my stalker tendencies out in the open, and now it's caused her to doubt my fucking intentions. Intentions that have only gotten stronger with my time away. Words are goddamn powerful, and it's time I use them while I'm sober.

I grip the back of her neck and pull her down, so we're brown to blue—fucking Anthony and his icy eyes. "Baby, I want you to listen. Just let me talk, okay?"

She nods, but it's a barely there action.

"I'm not a good man." She starts to disagree with a head shake, but I tighten my hold. "No, listen. I do bad things. That won't ever change, but though drunk, I remember every word we spoke, and it was exactly what you thought." I flick a finger between the two of us. "This right here. This is something I want. I was serious about that, and I'll treat you right, I swear I will, but you need to recognize going in that it won't be permanent. I'm not that kind of man."

I hold her eyes and wait for her response with my heart lodged in my fucking throat. There's still so much to be worked out that she isn't aware of, starting with her dad, but this is the biggy—the deal breaker. She can't think she'll be the one to change me.

She rolls her eyes and leans back, breaking our intimate cocoon. "Please don't give me the 'I'm so awesome, don't fall in love' speech. I know what this is. Of the two of us, you're the most likely candidate for that one."

Even though we're joking, a faint sliver of somberness makes its way through me, but I tamp it down and give her a smirk because that smartass mouth never fails to amuse me. "I'll try to keep myself in check."

"Yeah, you do that," she replies all cocky and shit.

Though we're going into this eyes wide fucking open, I want her to know that she _was_ on my mind. I lose the smirk and cup her jaw. "Calling you was the first thing that came to mind when I learned about this fucking trip, but I wasn't sure you'd approve of my methods."

"Your methods?" she asks, nuzzling my hand.

I brush my lips against hers as a distraction before saying, "Yeah, ya know, getting your number and shit. Like I can know your every move … if I wanted to." I shrug my right shoulder to make it seem like business as usual, but it's not business as usual since I kind of do have her under surveillance.

Her body goes rigid and her eyes narrow, the first real sign of fire I've seen since those elevator doors opened earlier in the evening. "So," she starts, dragging out the word, and I brace myself. "You mean you could've called, but you just chose not to then?"

Of all the things I expected her to say, that wasn't it. I might even be speechless, just moving my lips with no words coming out. "Err," I start but pause because how do I respond? She's actually pissed that I didn't get her number. I soften my voice and try sounding reasonable. "Bella, I was trying not to invade your privacy."

Judging by her reaction, those were the wrong fucking words. She stands abruptly, moving so fast I don't have time to stop her, and takes two steps away before turning on me with a furious expression.

She barks a hard, sarcastic laugh. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?" she snaps, her arms becoming just as expressive as the rest of her. "Invade my privacy, my fucking privacy! Do you honestly think I'm so fucking stupid that I didn't notice one of the club cameras was suddenly pointed directly at me? Or, or what about that greasy blond who tries to follow me home every night? I may be a fucking idiot for even considering sleeping with you again, but don't act like I'm stupid!" She's agitated as fuck and has taken to pacing the small strip of carpet between the sofa and coffee table.

If I wasn't so pissed, I'd fall to the ground and latch onto her legs, begging for forgiveness, pleading with her not to leave and apologizing for having ever treated her so flippantly. But I am pissed, fucking irate, and that's the emotion I'm most comfortable with.

I jump up and take one step, positioning myself so that when she rounds from her angry pacing, she ends up right against my chest. "What. Do. You. Mean. _Tries_ ," I say, and I can guran-fucking-tee it is not a goddamn request.

Apparently, my words aren't registering because her face transforms from outrage to confused pretty fucking quickly, but it only lasts for a second before her temper flares. She jabs her finger in my chest. "Oh, don't you even try it! Breaking out the 'I'm a big bad mobster' attitude will only piss me off more. Where was that when you needed my fucking phone number?"

She tries to turn, but I grab both her arms and hold her in place. "Bella, I understand you're upset, and I acknowledge it. I'll even go so far as to say you're right. Fuck your privacy. I should've goddamn called you." At this point, my patience is a fine, flimsy thread stretched to its breaking point, but I keep my voice as even as I possibly can. "Now, tell me what you mean when you said he _tries_ to follow you home."

I watch as she works it out in her head, and then she fucking huffs as she snatches her arms from my grasp. "You've got a lot of nerve, Edward. First, you try to act all decent and proper, like you're doing _me_ a favor. And then, when you're called on your bullshit, you act like _you've_ been fucking wronged. Well, I have news for you, this isn't anywhere close to what I consider treating someone right. I know you're not always a good guy, and I was willing to overlook it, but I won't be treated like shit by someone I'm just fucking."

She spins on her heels so fast her hair flies out and slaps me across the face. I don't reach out because I might just wring her fucking neck. Instead, I breathe deeply through my nose. In and out. In and out. My teeth feel like they're about to crack I have them clenched so hard.

But epiphany is a motherfucker, and it slaps me hard across the face when I watch her go to my entrance table and grab a backpack I haven't even noticed sitting there. Slinging the straps onto her shoulders, she gives me one more scathing glare before turning and marching toward the elevator—which, might I add, automatically opens for my departing guests.

The ding echoes through the sound system, and her heels click across my marble, moving farther and farther away. I'm frozen fucking stupid, my mind screaming _fuck that bitch_ , yet my heart is beating at a frantic pace. I'm torn between rage and yearning, already missing her presence.

My feet start moving without me even giving the order, and I come up behind her so swiftly, she doesn't know I'm there until it's too late. Using my body, I push hers against the back wall of the elevator, spinning her to face me at the last second.

"Please, don't go," I say gruffly and just fucking breathe her in, feel her body against mine, and savor the moment she's allowing.

She stays stiff, unmoving, and I'm patient, giving her the time she needs to decide. When her body finally melts into mine, I breathe a fucking sigh of relief and pull back so I can see her face. "I'm sorry."

She nods and lets out her own sigh. "Okay."

I cup her jaw. "Bella, I wasn't"—I shake my head—"not. I'm not mad at you. I swear, I'll never let propriety keep me from you again."

With an eye roll, she jabs me in the stomach, and on instinct, I jump back with a laugh—only it turns to a fucking grimace as my shoulder gives a little throb. "Shit."

"I'm sorry," she says, even though she doesn't look it.

I shake my head and grab her hand, leading her back into my penthouse. When we get to the living room, I pause. "I love that you're here, even more because you came looking for me, but fuck, Bella, I need a goddamn shower." I motion over myself with the hand that isn't holding hers. "I need to be me again."

She tugs at her bottom lip with her teeth. "Do you need help?"

I can't even hide the fact that my eyes just grew ten fucking sizes—because I felt that shit. But my mind's already processed that and moved on. "You gonna wash me, baby?" I give her one of the smirkiest smirks I possess.

"I think we both know that's just asking for trouble," she replies casually, totally squashing the images that had already invaded my mind. "I can help you get that shirt off, though, and I don't know, maybe a rain check?"

"Fuck yes!" I give a fist pump and immediately regret it. "Shit."

"Come on." Bella tugs my hand, and like an expert, she knows exactly where my bedroom is.

When we get to my room, the first thing she does is remove her backpack, sitting it along the wall by the door. I can't help but notice that it's a Jansport. I briefly wonder how she'd feel about a Fendi instead, which leads to thoughts of all the other fantastic shit I could buy her.

"Get your clothes, and I'll help with your shirt."

"Could you run back to the kitchen and grab the scissors from the drawer to the right of the sink?" I ask as I head to the closet. Not willing to cut every shirt I have, I just grab a pair of shorts to wear until I can crash naked in my bed.

Bella reenters right as I exit the closet. "There were a few take-out menus, also. Want me to order some food?"

"I could eat," I reply, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Just cut this up the middle of the back and toss it."

She hands me the menus, and as I peruse them, her gentle fingers work to get my shirt opened. I can tell the exact moment she sees the wound because a small gasp escapes, even though she tries to contain it.

"God, Edward. In another spot, this could've been fatal." Her voice is both astounded and horrified.

I peel the shirt away and toss it and the scissors on the floor before pulling her to stand between my knees. "This is me, Bella. The very core of me. I won't ever not be this man."

Those goddamn dark, expressive eyes bore into me. They're looking for more, but she has to accept that it just isn't there. A monster lives inside me, and these are the type of wounds that scar my soul.

She leans down and brushes her lips against mine so softly I barely feel it, but the sentiment behind it reverberates along my nerve endings and settles in my bones. Never in my life have I felt so much from so little.

I shake my head to clear away the fucking pussy bullshit and break the moment, moving her aside so I can go drown myself. I wave toward the discarded menus. "Order from any of those. Filet, medium rare for me, please."

I only use the rain shower head, afraid that a wayward jet might get ahold of my wound, but that doesn't mean I'm any less thorough. The water stings for the first few minutes, and then my shoulder goes numb to the feel of the spray. I'm able to scrub almost every single inch of my skin and hair—twice. It even feels good when my eyes burn, because they're my fucking eyes and not those goddamn contacts that went down the toilet as soon as I entered the room.

I don't know how long I stay in the bathroom, but it feels like a long fucking time. So long that I even have a fleeting thought of Bella bailing, but then I realize it may be for the best—at least until I'm in shape to fuck anyway. It may sound harsh, but that has to be the reason for these un-Edward-like qualities I'm exhibiting when it comes to her.

Get my fill and then tolerate—that's the status quo, and I keep fucking that up royally—first alcohol and now a wound. The chase is all about the completion, and we just can't seem to get there again.

Maybe it's time to cool off until we can.

I sigh, tossing my towel in the hamper, and slip on my shorts. With a clearer head, I make my way out to find Bella and ease her out the door, instead of playing fucking house.

* * *

 **I totally love this chapter, so I hope you do too!**

 **I haven't been quite as productive this time as last, but hopefully I'll get to work for you today. Exciting things on the horizon—I think anyway. The most you'll have to wait is the normal 2 weeks, but I'll do my best to slice a few days off it.**

 **See you next time :)**


	12. Solare

**Fran is the beta babe, and Sunshine, 2browneyes and Ninkita pre-read for me.**

* * *

 **Gore rating—0**

When I enter the bedroom, my feet come to an abrupt halt. Two distinct yet opposite emotions move swiftly through me. The first is complete and utter disdain. How fucking dare she have food spread on my Lånan eiderdown duvet? But the second completely overwhelms the first, nullifying it almost entirely.

Appreciation.

One side of the bed has been folded back, ready and waiting for my aching body to climb into. A large wooden tray holds two of my Versace Vanitas black and gold dinner plates filled with food she's transferred from the crappy delivery containers, along with silverware, napkins and even two glasses of wine.

Her heeled, strappy sandals are slipped off and lying on the floor, and the rest of her is perched on the far side. She's watching me intently, and I understand why.

When I strolled from the bathroom to find her, I had intentions, but she's halted them in their tracks by simply being herself; a generous and caring person. The kind I'll only destroy. But goddamn, she looks so good sitting on my bed, her expression timid yet open—friendly. One I'm unaccustomed to encountering in my everyday interactions.

Fear claims that prize.

She scoots over and lifts my duvet; her eyes aimed at the inviting spot instead of me. "I hope this is okay."

A rush of uncertainty makes my heart quiver in my chest, and it's a fucking unwelcome sensation. I've only ever felt it twice before. The first was when I was five. I can only remember flashes of the incident, but the fucking feeling is unmistakable.

When we were young, every summer, we'd go to the Olympic National Forest where my parents owned a cabin on a lake. It was an exclusive community with only a handful of homes. Us kids weren't allowed near the water without adults, and we weren't supposed to go into the woods alone. But I was Edward Fucking Cullen, and even before I even knew what that meant, I liked to defy.

In this particular instance, I disregarded the rules and led my three-year-old brother and his little playmate into the woods for a game of hide and seek. At some point, the little girl screamed, and I ran toward the sound. A man had her by the arm, and Emmett was pulling her other one, trying to hold onto her.

I froze.

For that one second, I felt exactly as I do right now.

In the end, I pulled out my Gerber Mini pocket knife and stabbed the man in the eye, using that distraction to get them the fuck away. Our parents did a lot of yelling, at us and each other, and when it was over, the little girl's family left—we never saw them after that. As for the man, no one could find him, but I never again let my brother go near those woods.

Bella's eyes lift to mine, and she has a little pucker between her brows. "Edward?"

The second time, I was twelve and came up on some punks trying to push my kid brother around. I couldn't decide whether to kick their asses, or if I should let him learn the fucking hard way.

I kicked their goddamn asses.

On both those occasions, I let my emotions make the choice. And looking at her now, offering me a level of kindness I don't get very often, I do the same.

My feet start toward the bed, but I pause before I slide in. With exaggerated movements, I drop the shorts while giving her a smirk. "I need to be comfortable if I'm being put to bed."

She doesn't even look away. Instead, her eyes roam downward, making no effort to conceal the hunger—she may even pout a little when I slip under the covers. My smirk has turned into a genuine smile by this point, as it's fucking nice to see a woman who isn't ashamed to show interest in what she desires.

And in this case, it's clear. She craves my body, not my money or name.

Because of our positions, Bella's on my left, which gives me pause as I settle against the stack of cottony softness behind me—causing a bedgasm of epic fucking proportions. It feels so goddamn good that I almost forget she's here until her giggle brings me back to the moment. I grip her head and pull her in for a kiss. It's just a press of lips, but even that feels like too much.

"Thank you for this," I murmur as I pull back. "It's more than I deserve."

She snorts and leans over to grab the handles of the wooden tray. "I can't deny that." She places it across my legs and sits up straighter, brushing her fingers against my jaw. "But it's good to see you again, Edward."

"It feels fucking amazing," I reply, grabbing her hand and kissing her palm before it can get away. "Even better with you here."

She pulls her hand from my grasp and grabs the plate with her grilled chicken along with a fork, tilting her head to the tray. "You should eat."

I stare at her for a second longer, seriously wondering if she's even fucking real, before pulling the tray closer and grabbing my own fork. The first several minutes pass by in complete goddamn silence, aside from the sound of silverware clanking against really expensive china. An awkwardness has woven its way between us, and I'm fucking positive my reaction when I exited the bathroom is the cause.

Placing my fork back on my plate, I relax back onto the stack of pillows. "So let's talk," I say abruptly, widening my arms.

She pauses, fork in mid-air, studying me with a careful expression. As she does this, a drop of cream sauce trickles from her piece of chicken, and I watch helplessly as it falls to land on my fucking eight-thousand-dollar duvet.

I visibly fucking wince.

Her eyes follow mine, and she gasps, hastily shoving the bite into her mouth with an apologetic shrug. "I'm so sorry," she says after choking down the chicken. "I'm such a fucking slob." She swipes her finger over the spot, essentially rubbing it the fuck in, and brings it to her mouth.

Watching it slide between her plump lips is enough to keep me from saying a fucking word, though.

She hastily places her dish on the tray and starts to move away. I grab her arm, stopping her. "Stay," I say with a sigh, eyeing the barely there spot with contempt. "That fucking shit is driving me goddamn crazy, but I'd rather not ruin our date."

"Date," she repeats, and it doesn't quite seem like a fucking question. She's testing the word on her tongue, tasting how it feels.

"Is there a problem with that?" I lift my brow, daring her to deny me.

"A first date?" she counters, and there's a fucking mischievous spark brewing in her dark depths.

I tilt my head in acquiescence. "I'll agree to that."

She smiles and leans back against the pillows beside me, stretching her sinful legs on the bed, getting herself more comfortable. "So tell me about yourself," she says, giving me a smug smile.

I chuckle. "I think we're beyond that, but I'll give it a go," I respond, lifting the tray from my lap and passing it over to her. "Can you take this to the kitchen first? Unless you'd like to finish eating?"

"Ah, that would be a negative," she says as she takes the tray and moves from the bed.

Inside, I'm secretly ecstatic, but I do my goddamn best not to let her see. Eating in the bed is fucking disgusting, and this little experiment only proved my fucking case. I don't even want to get into that level of my character just yet. She'll see soon enough as it goddamn is—repressing myself is bad enough, but controlling my snobbish tendencies is a bitch.

While she's gone, I ease myself down onto my left side so that I'll be facing her when she returns. Since my shower, only some residual soreness is emanating from my wound, and it handles the transition rather well, causing me to let out a contented fucking sigh when I finally get into position.

I knew coming home would be comforting, but I never imagined it'd be this fucking awesome. And the reason for that sweeps through my door at that very moment—my eyes narrow into slits.

"What the fuck is that?" I ask, flinging my arm out to point at her hands.

"This?" She studies the offending object. "It's your antibiotic shot. Dem dropped it off while you were in the shower, but he said you needed to eat something first."

"Dem?" I repeat, a little fucking put out by her pet name for one of my most trusted guys—supposedly. But that doesn't even deter her. She marches straight to my side of the bed and starts lifting the duvet off my ass. "Whoa, what the hell, Bella!"

She stops and crosses her arms in a huff. "Please don't tell me you're afraid of needles."

"Fuck no!" I snap, giving her the stink eye. "But, shit, can't you warm a guy up or something?"

She rolls her eyes and grabs the cover, pulling it up to expose my ass. "The sooner this is done, the sooner we can get back to our date." Her brow hikes upward, daring me to open my fucking mouth.

I don't. Instead, I just tighten my ass cheeks as she drives the goddamn needle into my tender flesh. The pain is nothing compared to what I've already endured today, so I can be fucking thankful for that at least. What I truly am glad for, though, is when she marches straight around the bed, discarding the syringe into the trash bin, and flops down in front of me on her stomach.

"See, that wasn't so bad."

"It wasn't."

"Would you like some Tylenol, too?"

I reach over and brush my fingers across the top of her arm. "I want you to climb up here and face me so we can get the awkward first date conversation out of the way."

She gives me a small smile before repositioning her body to match mine, except she's lying on her right side. "I think I've already asked the first question."

"So you have." I smirk. "Let's see. I'm a very busy man with my fingers in a lot of pies. I command respect and obedience." At this, her brows climb up her forehead, and I push forward, hoping to clarify. "That in no way references my personal life; I'm not that kind of man … exactly," I hedge, only to realize I'm digging a deeper fucking hole. I let out an uncomfortable chuckle. "I won't command your obedience, Bella, though sometimes it may be appropriate." Pushing my hand forward, I trace a finger along the collar of her low-cut tank.

Chills race down her arms, but even so, she grips my hand and pulls it away. "I know you're rich and powerful and your last name is Cullen, which implies a certain lifestyle. I also know that you're more than accustomed to getting your own way. Maybe you should tell me something I don't already know."

I purse my lips as I consider the task she's given me. It's actually harder than you fucking think. Who I am on the surface is an open book, and the things you don't know, well, there's a fucking reason for it.

Taking my hand—which she's still holding, by the way—I run it down the soft material of the duvet that she's lying on. "This comes from an island twenty miles off the coast of Norway. Lånan. It's uninhabited, but each year, the workers return to collect the eiderdown. Only eight to ten duvets are produced per season, and they cost a lot of fucking money."

Her eyes flit between my hand and my eyes several times before they narrow. "Thanks for making me feel even more like shit," she deadpans, obviously not appreciating my truth.

"Bella," I say, bringing my hand back up and brushing it along her hair then down to rest on her waist. "I didn't tell you that to make you feel bad. I told you because I want you to understand. I'm a _very_ particular man who doesn't take kindly to anyone fucking up my shit. I love nice things—probably too fucking much. But in case you didn't notice, I let it slide. You're here. I'm here. And that's barely even a thought in my mind." I roll my eyes at her expression. "Okay, it does bother me, but not enough to matter. I want you here more than I care about that."

She stares at me for a beat longer, and before she speaks, she has to stop and clear her throat first. "That was an interesting way to get your point across, but effective none the less."

I tickle her side, causing a small giggle before slipping my hand around her back and pulling her closer. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she says, granting me a shy smile.

"Okay, my turn. Same question."

"Edward," she says with a little head shake. "I know you ran a background check on me. You already know who my father is. What's left?"

Fuck! I didn't even consider this leading us here, but it is something that has to be discussed. Agent Charlie Sawn is a pain in both our asses, and she's completely unaware. The question is, now or later?

I blow out a breath. "I do know your basic background and your father is something we'll need to discuss eventually, but I don't think it's first date material." I smirk. "Why don't you fill me in on Dem?"

She chuckles. "You like that, huh?"

"No." I don't say it coldly, but I sure as fuck make it sound serious.

"Uh, huh," she murmurs as she pushes closer to me. The duvet keeps us from tangling together, but the building heat threatens to sear me. Her fingers go to my still damp hair, scratching against my scalp. It feels fucking heavenly. "As I danced Friday, I couldn't help but glance around, hoping to see you stalking me from some dark corner. You weren't. So I went home, sure that I'd see you Saturday. We both know how that turned out. By Sunday, I was a pissed. So when a … guy I know, Seth, asked me out—"

"Seth," I interrupt, my whole body going rigid.

"Just someone who lives in my building," she says, scratching my scalp more urgently in an attempt to fucking calm my clearly present attitude. I try to relax so I can hear if he needs to die or not. "Anyway, we went to lunch. Ya know, a fuck Edward Cullen date. Only I was miserable. Even though we're friends, Seth and I, he's made it clear he'd like more. It was awful and awkward, and I just really wanted it to end."

My muscles relax even more. "Okay, so Seth sucks. Good."

Her fingers tighten, and she tugs on the strands. I groan, and not from the pain but the from the sparking sensation that travels down my spine. "You're only going to get us in trouble doing stuff like that," I warn, feeling my cock stir beneath the duvet.

"You're acting like a jealous asshole," she sing-songs, tugging a little harder. "I thought that was the beauty of these arrangements? The freedom you give the women involved."

I push closer, pinning her upper body with my own, the duvet the only thing making us two separate entities. "I'm not sure if I'm willing to follow the status quo with you. Just hearing about that date made me want to murder Seth while he sleeps."

Instead of admonishing me, she fucking loses her shit and slams our lips together with a force that drives me goddamn mad. Our teeth clash, tongues twining together, and I fall into her completely, jumping straight into the fire without another thought. It's only a nudge against my left shoulder that brings me back to reality, and I pull away, resting my forehead against hers.

We're both panting like we just ran a marathon. "Fuck, Bella," I say between heavy breaths. "You're going to be the death of me." I kiss the tip of her nose before retreating to my spot, taking care as I settle back down.

She's staring at my tres ceiling, calming her own breaths. "Maybe we should … " She pauses and breathes a couple more times before turning her head my way. "Maybe we should wait a few days before seeing each other again. Let your wound heal some?"

"Oh, Bella," I say with a chuckle. "You think I didn't come out of the shower ready to recite those exact words?"

She rolls back to her side and tucks her hands under her cheek. "Why didn't you?"

I look off absently and ask myself that same question. Why the fuck didn't I? I blow out a breath. "I'm not sure. I appreciate everything you've done for me, both now and last time. I'm not used to someone taking care of me."

"Everybody needs a little help every now and then," she replies with an absent-minded shrug.

I don't respond, mostly because I don't buy that fucking bullshit. I've never needed help before, and I'll be goddamned if it starts now. Instead, I go for distraction. "So Sunday was the date. Tell me about Monday and Dem." I say the last word with obvious scorn, causing her to snort—such a cute little sound.

"Monday is my off day," she starts, shoving one of her hands into my hair. I fucking sigh. "I decided to get some fucking answers. Since I have no other way to contact you, I took a walk around your block."

My eyes, which had almost fallen closed, jump back open. "My block?"

"Yeah, your block." She nods, giving me the "hold your horses" look. "I'd been to your garage, I knew it existed, but the elevator we took requires a fingerprint I'm not capable of producing. So I went in search of the entrance. It has to come out on the street somewhere, right?"

"Sei un biscotto intelligente, solare." I tell her she's a smart cookie, and for some unknown reason, a pet name rolls right the fuck off my tongue along with it.

"Edward." Her voice is a warning, and my eyes jump to hers. "Consider you speaking Italian like me tugging your hair. A big no-no," she says seriously before her lips curve into an excited smile. "But what did you say?"

"I said you're a smart cookie." I pause, unsure if I should say more, but the look of pride on her face only makes my lips flap like they don't know how to fucking stop. "And I might've called you solare."

"Solare?" Her brows furrow.

"Gesù Christo," I mumble to myself, but my fucking tongue won't stop wagging. "A term of endearment. It basically means solar or sunshine, but I meant"—I pause and rub the back of my neck—"your presence is like sunshine to me."

"It's beautiful," she says softly, both of us realizing we're inching back toward stoking those never-ending flames. "I love it."

I chuckle uneasily and pull the moment back into the normal range. "Well don't get used to it."

Her fingers leave my hair and grab for my nipple, giving it a twist. "Okay, okay, I give." I laugh, grabbing her hand and holding it in mine. "Back to Monday."

Her eyes sparkle, the atmosphere between us light and playful. "You'd better not be planning Dem's murder in that head of yours."

" _Dem_ will be fine as long as he was a gentleman," I say, crossing my fingers over my heart. "I may even thank him."

She pushes closer to me, like we were earlier, before I pinned her to the bed and about lost myself in her. "He was quite shocked when I came walking down the tunnel, but as soon as he recognized me, he was very welcoming. For your information, he wouldn't tell me where you were or anything. He just assured me you'd be home in a few hours."

"How did you talk him into letting you up?" I ask, because though I'm glad he did, I seriously can't fucking believe she was able to accomplish that feat. Demetri is an old-timer. He plays by the fucking rules.

She pushes her lips against mine and pulls back with a smirk. "I told him to tell you to go fuck yourself and never contact me again."

My jaw pops open, but I have no fucking idea how to respond.

She closes my mouth and slips her hand back into my hair. "It was obvious he didn't want to deliver that message. He took me to the elevator, told me to wait in the penthouse, and you'd be up as soon as he could get you here."

"I don't even know what the fuck to say to that shit," I tell her, my eyes becoming heavy as fuck. "I'll definitely thank him, though." I fight back a yawn. "Will you stay until I fall asleep?"

"Of course," she answers quietly. "Do you want me to talk or be quiet?"

"Talk, please. It'll help remind me I'm home," I say, finally allowing that yawn to escape.

Her soothing voice lulls me to sleep, and she even stars in my dreams. Not naked ones either. Normal ones, crazy ones. Just regular stupid fucking dreams about me and her in all these weird situations.

The next morning, before I even open my eyes, the soreness of my shoulder is noticeable but not gut-wrenchingly so. I breathe through the ache as I rotate it a little, rolling to lie on my back.

My eyes pop open, and the muted gray beyond the windows is a welcome fucking sight, simply because the sun would be lighting my ass up otherwise. A sigh beside me sends my heart thumping inside my goddamn chest, because there's only one fucking person who could be there.

I slowly turn my head, afraid of disappointment, and am blown the fuck away. Not only is she there, curled in the opposite direction, but she's shed her tiny jean shorts and is only in her tank and thong. She has the other side of the duvet pulled against her front and tangled between her legs.

My dick, which is already fucking hard, throbs beneath the fucking duvet. "Gesù Christo," I whisper gruffly as my eyes trail from her bare shoulders and arms to her ass cheeks and down her fucking never-ending legs.

I can't resist. I lean the fuck over and run my lips across the bare skin of her hip, breathing fucking deeply. "Fuck!" I mumble against her soft skin, her scent clouding my mind.

Pulling back, I ease from the bed before I wake her. My shoulder is tender, but the whole fucking throbbing thing from last night is gone. I sigh in relief and move to the bathroom to take a piss. As I come back through the room, I slip into my discarded shorts and continue toward the kitchen.

Fucking finally, I can do something for Bella.

I'm fucking whistling as I move down the hall. A cloudy morning, a healing wound and a fucking beautiful ass woman in my bed, nothing can fuck up this day.

Well, aside from the throat that clears in my living room. I stop in my fucking tracks and spin to face a trio of men.

"How the fuck you get in here!"

My little brother peers at me over his glasses. "Edward," he starts in a condescending tone. "You know better than that."

Okay, I should've expected that from him, but what comes next causes my heart to stutter.

"Is that Charlie's daughter in your bed?" the Boss asks with an even expression.

There's no way to judge which way this is going to go, so I don't respond. Instead, I move toward the island where I have access to a fucking gun.

* * *

 **Thought it was appropriate to share this from chapter 1 again, ***Don't expect instant love;** **they're nowhere in the vicinity.** **12 chapters later and it can be tweaked slightly, but this mobster has never felt romantic love so he wouldn't recognize it anyway. As it is, he realizes something is different and keeps trying to check himself. Put things back as he's accustomed to.**

 **Couple more things.**

 **I have an author FB page "FayeByrdFiction" and a blog "FayeByrdFiction blogger" if you're interested in either. They're for my OF, and my latest blog post has an announcement :)**

 **See you as soon as I can!**


	13. I'm Waiting

**As always, Fran beta'd this bad boy, and Sunshine, 2browneyes and Ninkita give me the honor of pre-reading. Thanks, ladies!**

* * *

 **Gore rating—0**

When I reach the bar top, I casually prop my hands on it and survey the men as they wait for an answer. Emmett is trying to hide his trademark geeky smirk, while Jasper looks me over with a careful expression. But really, those two fuckers don't even matter. It's Pop who's going to be the one deciding how this fucking encounter ends.

"Well?" His voice stretches across the room, though I'm not detecting any real anger.

I shrug my right shoulder—my left is still a little achy. "It is. But it's not what you think … yet, anyway."

Emmett snickers, until my father pins him with a glare, then he shuts the fuck up. The Boss rubs his hand roughly over his face and sighs. "Edward, I thought we had an understanding on this."

"We do have an understanding," I assure with a decisive nod. "I understand that the rewards far outweigh the consequences. Bella and I will not be forced apart by an absent father looking to control her life. We're both adults and know exactly what we want from each other."

His eyes narrow. "And you're willing to risk your life for a fuck?"

I snort. "As fucking if. Charlie Swan couldn't take me out on his best goddamn day when he was in his prime. There's no way in hell his old ass can do it now."

"Son," he says, his exasperation evident. "That isn't really the point. Charlie and I have been friends for years, and of all the women around Chicago, you zero in on his daughter. After we made sure … " He trails off. "Never mind. Just use her and be done with it." He waves a dismissive hand.

A sharp retort to deny that fucking bullshit is on the tip of my tongue, but I snatch it back before it can escape—because, isn't that my intention? It sounds so fucking cold when it's put like that, not hidden under the guise of dating, but deep down, isn't that what I'm really doing?

Fucking asshole.

Fuck him for pointing out the obvious. I shove that shit to the back of my mind—so that I can reason it away later—and start rummaging through my pantry. These dicks may have dimmed my morning, but they won't be stopping me from doing something nice for Bella.

After grabbing the dry ingredients for waffles, I deposit them on the counter and turn back to the men who've yet to move. "Will that be fucking all?" I snap, annoyed by their very presence. "I have some payback I need to work on." I wave my hand over the items before me.

Pop clears his throat. "Sorry, son. We wouldn't be here if it wasn't important. There are a couple things we need to discuss."

I lean against the counter and fucking sigh. "Fine. Let me make these waffles and wake Bella. As soon as she's eaten, I'll send her on her way."

Emmett peers at me through his large glasses. "Is there any way I could talk ya out of a couple of those?"

"Fine," I bite out. "But you can cook them while Bella eats. I'll make extra batter for ya."

He excitedly rubs his hands together. "I get to use the iron."

I'm barely able to hold back my snarl. That shithead better not fuck up my Wells Belgian Waffle maker. He may be a fucking genius when it comes to technical shit, but mechanical? That's a whole other ballgame.

I let my work soothe me as I mix the ingredients together. The obtrusive fuckers in my living room stay silent, and it actually makes me wonder what's on their minds. As I set the batter aside to let it rest a few minutes, I go back over and prop across the island.

"What's got you fuckers so quiet?" I ask, taking a look at each of their faces. Emmett's still a little too giddy-looking for my liking, but Pop and Jasper both seem somber.

Jasper, who's staring at his lap, brings his eyes up to mine, and I fucking know. The pain in them can only mean one thing. "Alice isn't doing too well these days."

My shoulders slump, and all the annoyance drains right the fuck away. I haven't been able to see her, and it breaks my heart. "I need to see her," I say with determination, going back to the bar and pouring the first batch of waffles, even though they haven't sat as long as I would've liked.

"You do," Pop agrees in an earnest voice. "But there's another matter we need to discuss first." When I go to be an insistent asshole, the Boss holds up his hand, stopping me before any words fly. "We'll be quick."

I nod and get back to work on Bella's breakfast, whipping some cream and slicing strawberries. The feeling has been sapped right out of it, though. Fixing breakfast to impress a girl seems petty in the grand scheme of life, but I think Alice would approve. She always has hoped someone would knock me off my fucking high horse. I may even feel inclined to let her believe it to be the case.

The last thought surprises me; so again, I push it into the dark recesses of my mind and grab one of the china plates from the dishwasher. On the tray, I load warm syrup and a saucer of both strawberries and whipped cream alongside a plate with two waffles and a glass of orange juice.

When I pick it up and turn around, I almost bump into Emmett. He's lurking just behind me, eyeing my waffle maker like it's the fucking holy grail—no, not that one. I almost slam the whole tray up against his head.

Instead, I clench my jaw and speak through gritted teeth. "You break it, I fucking break you." I stalk off, but not before catching the kid-like gleam in his eye.

As I sweep into my room, I try my fucking best to smile brightly—her bare ass sure helps a lot—but not much can dispel the sadness that has settled over me. Alice has always been a part of my life, more mother to me than my own. Finding out she had cancer was hard enough, but watching her wither away has been devastating. Knowing the end is close, I can't decide if I should be happy her pain is almost over or drowning in a pit of despair—like Jasper.

I push it away as much as I'm able and set the tray at the foot of the bed before moving up to the edge where Bella's still tangled in my stained duvet. The first place my hand goes is to her hip, naked aside from the thin strap of lace-like fucking polyester that's attached to her barely-there panties. I give it a good squeeze before continuing up her side, allowing my fingers to brush against where her tits almost spill from the top of her tank.

She moans and arches into the contact, causing a genuine smile to dance across my lips. I should've known that she—even unaware—would somehow make me feel better. She always fucking does. Her arms stretch up over her head, and her tits push forward, giving me an eyeful, before her eyes slide open and languidly land on mine.

"Morning," she says lazily. "Have you had a miraculous recovery?"

My brows furrow, not following her line of thinking, until her eyes fall to where my hand has slipped under the front of her tank. I swiftly pull it out and rub the back of my neck. "No, sorry. I couldn't resist the temptation."

Her eyes fall to my bare chest and roam over it before coming back to mine with a satisfied smile. "I understand completely, but isn't it _hard_ enough as it is?"

"Oh, you wanna play?" I ask, lifting my hand and pretending to go after any number of the barely dressed parts she has on display.

She giggles and grabs my hands. "Okay, time out. This will only get us in trouble."

My smile dims a little as reality comes seeping back in. "I brought you something," I say, diverting my attention to the tray. I pick it up and motion for her to get situated.

She's beaming brightly now, but as she studies me, it starts to fade. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head, not wanting to go into the details. "Nothing to worry your pretty little head over."

She huffs a deep breath and looks to the tray instead, dropping the subject—I'm unsure if I'm happy about that or not. Somehow, I know she'd say the right thing. The very words that would make me feel better.

"This looks absolutely wonderful!" she says with a bright, fake-ass smile.

I smirk. "It might taste good, too."

She takes the spoon and scoops up a glob of cream, spreading it over the top waffle like fucking peanut butter and then sprinkles strawberry slices over that. Then, she picks up the syrup and fucking drowns her whole plate. I sit almost slack-jawed as I watch the entire process, idly wondering how many more stains are in my duvet's future.

When her masterpiece is complete, her gaze snaps to mine as she works her fork through the monstrosity and spears a bite. With our eyes locked, she brings it to her mouth. Even with the fucking mess, I'm goddamn mesmerized. Her lids fall closed, and a soft sigh escapes as the fork disappears between her lips.

The complicated array of fucking sensations that move through me almost cause me to get up and run from the fucking room. It's like I can't even take a goddamn breath without her permission; she has me so deep under her spell.

It's only the voice right outside my door that plunges me back into the here and now with an icy quickness. "Yo, this thing is smoking in here!"

Her eyes widen, and I give her an apologetic shrug before rushing from the room ready to wring a motherfucker's neck. As I get to the hallway, there's a cloud of smoke hovering from the kitchen, and my feet move faster. I might've thought he was talking shit at first. By the time I make it to my waffle maker, the smoke detector starts dinging. I wave my hand in front of my fucking face and grab a towel, flicking the button to open the top.

It pops open, and there sits two fucking waffles, burned to a goddamn crisp. I quickly turn on the exhaust fan and count to fucking ten in my head before turning around. Emmett's cowering behind the island, eyeing me with an apologetic expression.

He starts shaking his head. "Shit, man, I'm sorry. I couldn't get it open."

"Save it," I snap, coughing up a fucking lung over the smoke that's choking my ass to fucking death.

He hangs his head, his eyes falling to the floor. "Yeah, but now I don't get any waffles."

Before I can lose my shit, a small giggle meets my ears, and my head snaps to the noise. Standing at the end of the hallway, where the whole room opens up, is Bella—at least she's fucking dressed. Her hand is covering her mouth as she tries to contain whatever about this fucked up situation has her tickled.

I take a couple steps in her direction, swirling the towel with my hand, and snap it toward her when I get close enough. "Oh, you think this is funny?" I joke as she dodges and giggles some more.

Instead of trying again, I close in on her, backing her against the opposite wall with my body. Her eyes scan past my shoulder and take in the fucking intruders before coming back to me.

"I didn't realize you had company," she says quietly, her hands dancing along my bare waistline.

I snort. "Yeah, un-in-fucking-vited."

She gives a small nod and grips my hips a little more tightly. "I think I'll just go and gather my things."

Though I fucking hate hearing it, that's exactly what needs to happen. I give her a nod. "Yeah, we have business to discuss, so these fuckers aren't going anywhere."

"Okay," she says before peeping over my shoulder. "Emmett, I'll bring my tray, and you can eat the rest. I'm not really hungry."

I can't see my brother's response, but it must be positive because she grants him one of her beautiful smiles before flicking her eyes back to me. For some fucked up reason, I dip my head and press my lips to hers. It doesn't last long, but the move itself, with an audience, is so uncharacteristic of me that I feel a little disoriented by the whole thing.

Bella gives me a secret, seductive smile before strutting her ass down the hallway. My eyes follow every swerve of her hips until Pop barks out a laugh.

I spin around to face him, and while he cackles for his own amusement, I also check out the other two fuckers in the room. Emmett's perched at the island, awaiting his food I'm sure, but his goddamn smile is wide, and his eyes are fucking sparkling at me. And Jasper, even with the pain still clearly present, has a small smirk pointed my way.

"What?" I growl, eyeing each one of the assholes.

Pop laughs louder and even claps his fucking hands. I'm almost ready to get my fucking gun before he finally reins it in and stares off down the hall. "Yeah," he says, flicking his eyes to me. "You need to tap that and move the fuck on."

My jaw clamps down so fucking tight, I'm afraid I'm going to crack a fucking tooth, but opening my mouth will only make it worse. Bella and I will do what we want to fucking do, and at least this motherfucker knows about it. One problem fucker down, one to go.

Heels clicking against marble gain my attention, so I relax my stance and turn to watch as Bella places her mess of a tray before Emmett. He doesn't even fucking hesitate. He grabs her fork and starts shoveling that shit right into his fucking pie hole. I almost throw up in my mouth.

But when Bella turns that smile on me, it all fades the fuck away. She toys with her backpack strap as she approaches. The shyness of her move is a little perplexing until her nervous eyes glance past me.

Understanding dawns.

I reach out my arm for her to walk into and turn us both toward the other two men in the room, clearing my throat. "Jasper, Carlisle, I'd like you to officially meet Bella Swan." The look I give them is fucking deadly.

Jasper offers a small smile. "Good morning, Miss Bella. Nice to finally meet ya."

Bella goes to respond, but my father interrupts. "Bella," he says, tilting his head her way. "I owe you an apology for our last meeting and would like to offer that now."

Bella juts out her hip, staying quiet for a few seconds, but when Pop fails to continue, she says, "I'm waiting."

I cover my laugh with a cough, but my father doesn't. He laughs loud, and his eyes are shining when he finally looks back to Bella. "Touché," he says with a nod. "I am sorry for our first encounter and promise never to be so disrespectful to you again."

Bella relaxes against me. "Thank you, Mr. Cullen." She glances up at me. "I need to get going."

"I'll walk you out," I respond, leading us toward the elevator.

It automatically opens when we approach, and I lead her all the way in, which, judging by her expression, confuses the fuck out of her. I chuckle and access the control panel. After a few commands, I lift her right hand and press her thumb onto the scanner.

She watches me curiously, but otherwise, says nothing. When the panel beeps, I lift her finger and place a light kiss on her wrist before letting go. "There," I say, nodding to the print scanner. "You'll never need to ask someone for permission to enter the penthouse again."

Her eyes move between me and the control panel several times before she steps closer, her body pressed tightly against mine. My arms automatically encircle her as she stares at my bare chest, but I stay quiet and allow her to gather her thoughts.

Finally, her eyes tilt up to mine. "I'm not sure the proper response to a gesture like this, so I'll just say thank you and promise to actually take you up on the offer."

I smirk. "Yeah?"

"Ye—"

My lips cut off her reply. They're hard and insistent, my tongue pushing its way inside her mouth yet relaxing as soon as it tangles with hers. I explore her slowly, savoring each and every stroke that passes between us. My hand fists her hair, positioning her head so that I have maximum access to every single inch of her.

The groan that rumbles up my chest is the only thing that keeps me tethered to the real world. Were it not for that, I might've taken her against the elevator wall—shoulder and audience be damned.

I growl as I reluctantly pull away. "Don't keep me waiting too long, solare," I say, releasing her and stepping outside the doors.

She smirks and presses the button for the doors to close.

I stand and watch as her form is slowly concealed before turning to face a trio of nosy fucking assholes who don't even pretend not to be looking. "Geesh, fuckers, you'd think none of you ever get any pussy with the way you're acting."

Pop chuckles sarcastically. "I think you know better than that."

Emmett turns beet red, but it's Jasper's reaction that guts me. His sad eyes fall to his lap. Because, no, he isn't getting shit. He's just happy his wife is still with him at all. A knot forms in my gut as I make my way back to the living room and perch on the edge of the coffee table. There's a spot beside Jasper on the sofa, but no fucking thank you.

I touch his knee. "I'm sorry, Jasper. I wasn't thinking."

He blows out a heavy breath and waves me off. "Nothing to be sorry for. I know you'd never intentionally be insensitive, but"—he points a finger at me—"you need to see her … soon." He cuts his eyes to Pop. "Let's move onto business so I can get back home."

The Boss joins his hands together in front of him and props his chin on his extended pointer fingers, sort of fucking nodding, but also deep in thought. It's actually fucking annoying considering he's had all morning to get his shit together. I clear my throat and earn a pair of previously unfocused eyes narrowed my way.

I give him a fake smile and a little fucking wave. "Whenever you're ready."

He sighs and digs a cigar from his inside pocket, though he doesn't light it—thank fucking God. He just sticks it in his jaw and gives it a couple chews to get the nastiness flowing.

"I had a call last night," he finally says, lobbing the cigar to his other cheek. "Seems we underestimated Nahuel's business contacts."

I shrug, because who gives a fuck. "Yeah, we underestimated Maria, as proven by my souvenir, but that doesn't make the mission any less successful."

The Boss takes the slobbery cigar from his mouth and tosses it on my coffee table. "Toss that in the can, would ya?" He motions to Emmett—halle-fucking-lujah, because I'm not sure I'm capable of picking it up. "It seems we're not the only American crime family he was supplying."

"They should be glad we took care of the fucking problem then," I sound off, too cocky for my own good.

Pop leans forward and pins me with a deadly expression. "That'd be true … _if_ they considered him a problem. As it is, we've stepped on some toes."

"So?" I stand and start pacing, my blood singing through my veins at the first sign of conflict. "I still don't see the problem. Our relationships with the other syndicates surely trumpanything Nahuel could offer them."

"That's true, son," the Boss says casually—too fucking casually—before watching Emmett take a seat beside Jasper—I cringe. "But this particular family is one I snub, creating automatic friction." Miami immediately comes to mind as the Boss takes a dramatic pause. "Needless to say, the phone call only exacerbated our already strained relationship."

I continue my pacing, my thoughts squarely focused on my brother and the mess I've been ignoring. With tensions building, Rosalie—and in effect, Emmett—are in more danger than ever, and I've not done a goddamn thing since I learned of the situation. An unusual feeling swells inside my chest.

Guilt.

Squashing it like a fucking bug, I snap into action. "Emmett, I want Jenks here at six o'clock sharp. I don't care if he's in New York right now; tell him he better fucking show." I give him a meaningful stare and move on to my father, retaking my seat. "Who contacted you and what exactly was said?"

The Boss chuckles darkly and cuts his eyes to Jasper, who grabs a file from his briefcase and tosses it on the coffee table. "Their Consigliere contacted me first. We were able to arrange a call between the Bosses. Seems there's been a mix-up in the rank and file we were unaware of."

I grab the folder and open it to a profile of two men. The first is Ronald King, Royce's older brother, now the boss of the Miami Mafia. His Consigliere is an older man, apparently an uncle, named Stanley King.

"And the old Boss?" I question, tossing the folder back on the table.

"Dead, I assume," Pop says with a shrug. "Emmett, I want you to dig into them and get us more information. Everything you can find, from members to associates."

"I'm going to put Jenks on it," I interject, trying to steer the conversation from that direction. I want my brother completely off the Kings' radar. I level the Boss with a steely expression. "Can we expect them to make a move?"

"Not right away," he replies, confident, and I trust his instincts, but he didn't say that they wouldn't ever.

"Then we may have to strike first," I respond, my mind prioritizing which avenues will need to be traveled first. Emmett, and Rosalie by extension, being at the beginning of the fucking map. "Let me do some recon, and in the meantime, beef up security at the club and both buildings."

"Sounds like a plan, for starters," the Boss says with a nod. "Anything else?" He lifts a brow.

I stand, my day already unfolding in my mind's eye, and give him a head shake. "Nope, just make sure that security's in place ASAP. Jasper, I'll see you and Alice shortly." I turn to my brother. "Emmett, hang back for a few, will ya?"

The Boss chuckles darkly and fucking shakes his head as he and Jasper stand. "They really think they can keep things from me," he says, slapping Jasper on the shoulder.

Jasper returns his chuckle. "They forget how long we've been in this game, Boss. Don't take it personally."

Emmett and I both stand, staring at their backs all the way to the elevator. They carry on the same fucked up conversation the whole way, too. Reminiscing over how awesome they are because they learned the ropes the hard fucking way.

As the elevator starts descending, I look to Emmett and say, "Pop knows about Rosalie."

* * *

 **I still have a few reviews to get to from last chapter—and I definitely will! I won't get to the ones for this chapter, though. I'm at the end of the first part of my other project and intend to finish it before writing more Operation. So expect next chapter a week from Wednesday, unless I get more accomplished than expected. You know I'll post earlier if I can!**

 **Teasers post 2 days before the chapter on my FB page—Fyregirl Fics :)**


	14. A Little F-ck-ng Kid!

**Fran is the awesome beta, and 2browneyes, Ninkita and Sunshine pre-read for me.**

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 **Gore rating—1 (because there is small violence)**

I close the final button of my custom Dior suit and brush a hand through my still damp hair, attempting to bring some kind of order to the chaotic mess. This always has been Alice's favorite designer, and it's my aim to please her. My heart is heavy as I mentally prepare myself to face her rail-thin frame and pain-filled eyes.

After Jasper and Pop left, Emmett and I had a serious talk about what I expect from him and Rosalie moving forward. I want them to lay low, keeping to their normal routines yet not touching anything that has to do with Miami. Since the Boss is more informed than I expected, and didn't seem pissed, I gather that he trusts me to handle it.

And fucking handle it I will.

But first, I need to see my aunt.

When I arrive at my garage, there's another guy shooting the shit with Demetri. "Who's this?" I snap, not even two steps out of the elevator.

Both sets of eyes focus in my direction, but it's the suit who steps forth with his hand out. "The name's Riley, sir. I'm your new security."

First I glare at his hand and then at the suit himself. "Then you should know that I'm not interested in touching you."

He withdraws it immediately. "Sorry, sir."

"You can just call me Boss," I say before turning to Demetri. "I'll be taking the Porsche today."

His brows lift. "The Boss has ordered armored vehicles only. Riley is here to drive you."

I shake my head once. "Not for this trip. I'll be going alone, and I'll be taking the fucking Porsche."

Demetri wisely doesn't say anything else. He simply grabs the keys to the car and walks my way. But this stupid fucking suit actually grabs my arm as I turn to leave. "Sir, Boss, I can't let ya do that."

I grab his wrist and spin it around, exerting just enough pressure to bring him to his knees before me. "Are you sure you can fucking stop me? Because from up here, it looks like a fuck no."

"B-boss," he stutters, as I add just a little more pressure. "Please don't make me hurt you."

I fucking scoff and kick him in the chest so hard it sends him flying on his ass. "Just the fact that you had the balls to say those words earns you a little respect, but don't fuck up and think you actually could." I straighten and adjust my jacket. "Now, after this trip, I'll allow you to be my driver—most of the fucking time—but this is personal. I'll be going alone."

Riley stays just where the fuck he is—he goddamn better—while I grab the keys from Demetri. "From this point forward I expect you to make sure Bella arrives home from the club safely, _Dem_." I smirk. "If that fuck James comes near her again, ice his stupid fucking ass."

Demetri's jaw tightens. "Did he hurt her?"

"Nah," I say with a fucking disgusted shake of my head, "but we're lucky she's still alive at all with him on the fucking job. Goddamn prick."

"I'll make sure she's safe, Boss. You have my word."

I give him a hard stare, frankly a little fucking confused as to why he sounds so vehement, but in all reality, I already know. She has that effect. "Good. You do that." I nod to Riley, who's still sitting on his ass. "And teach this fucker some manners while I'm gone."

He chuckles and gives Riley the side-eye. "Will do."

I step closer so only he and I can hear my words. "Also, tell Jessica I want my duvet and sheets dry-cleaned and returned to my bed today."

Demetri smirks. "How on earth could they have gotten dirty?"

My eyes narrow. "Just do it."

Twirling my keys, I turn and start for my row of cars as Demetri's chuckle echoes behind me. My Porsche 911 is in the fourth spot, and she fires right up as soon as I slide the key into the ignition, running like a sewing machine. Alice fucking loves this car, and it only seems right that I drive it.

The ride to Alice and Jasper's neighborhood is smooth and fast—this baby goes zero to one hundred in six point eight seconds and whips around corners like it's on rails. Incidentally, they live in the same posh, gated suburb as my parents, so I make sure to go the long route just to avoid passing their house. Wouldn't want Mother to see me this morning.

As I pull into their drive, the somber feeling that has settled inside me is only exacerbated by the visage before me. Their house looms large, lonely and silent. Usually, Alice would be in the flower gardens this time of morning, working right alongside the help.

With a heavy fucking sigh, I leave the car and meander to the door. In normal times, I wouldn't even knock, but since I have no fucking idea what to expect, I go ahead and hit the bell. The hollow sound echoes from inside. Just another symbol of the emptiness that lies beyond.

It takes at least a minute before Jasper is swinging the door wide, his expression even more troubled than earlier. "Is she awake?" I ask, not wanting him to disrupt her if she isn't.

He shakes his head and waves me by. "You know good and damn well she isn't asleep since she was expecting ya."

My brows lift as I turn back to meet his eyes after he's shut the door. "So she's got some fight then."

"It's complicated," he says with a shrug. "Yeah, she's still got plenty of spirit, but it costs her every damn time." He moves past me. "Come on, she'll have our asses if we take too long. She heard the bell."

I follow Jasper up the grand staircase and down to the end of the hall. He pauses at a set of double doors and takes a deep breath before swinging them open. My eyes remain on him as long as possible before straying to the bed. Alice is sitting, propped up by a large stack of pillows, her eyes pinned on me. That same lovely smile she's always had is shining from her beautiful but much slimmer face.

"Alice," I say as I rush to her side. A feeling of relief overcomes me. She's as bad as expected, but her light is still shining. I sit in the space she's left for me and hug her as gently as I can. "I came as soon as I could."

She grabs my hands and makes a shushing sound. "There, there, Edward. No need to be upset. I knew you'd come when you could."

I blow out a breath. "But I should've been here before now. Family's more important to me than that." I give her a look. She knows exactly what I do. In her heyday, she was calling some of the shots. "I promise I'll come once a week from here on out. No ifs, ands or buts about it."

Her eyes narrow slightly as they rove over my face. The longer she stares, the more intense it feels. I'm almost ready to crumble under her scrutiny when she finally speaks. "Something's different," she mumbles, almost like she's working on a fucking puzzle. "What's new?"

I swallow and glance away. "Nothing. Same as always."

Her frail hand reaches up and grasps my chin, turning me back to face her. "No. Something's new. I can't quite put my finger on it … "

Her words trail off, so I use the opportunity to change the subject. "So I wiped out an enemy in Mexico over the weekend."

With that fucking revelation, her clouded eyes clear up, and she leans a bit closer. "Tell me," she says, her spark making an appearance.

I smirk as I begin my tale, making sure to keep it as dramatic as it actually was, and she soaks in every word. Her face lights up when I recall how Maria chopped off Caius' ponytail, and her brows pucker in the center when I tell her about my scar.

"That bitch," she mutters.

"She's dead. Fughettaboutit." I wave her off and continue my tale, all the way until the drive home.

Sure, Bella was waiting on me, but Alice doesn't need to know that, though not telling her seems wrong as fucking hell. But I know her, and she's just looking to pin me with a woman in her last days. She thinks I need one to complete my life, and that couldn't be further from the truth.

Bella only complicates it more.

We talk for a while longer, about anything I can think of to keep her off my ass, but eventually, a yawn escapes, and it's time for me to go. I grip her thin fingers tightly in my hands and place a kiss on the top of her wrist. "I've loved this visit, but I think you need to rest."

She starts to protest, but I shush her. "I'm not having it. I promised I'd be here at least once a week, and I mean it, but you have to sleep when you're tired."

She pulls her hands back and huffs. "Fine," she grumbles. "Kids these days think they run the show."

Jasper's chuckle meets my ears, and I turn, not even sure if he's been there the whole time or not. He relaxes on the other side of Alice. "Sweetheart, I told ya that this morning."

She hmphs. "That's because you men are going soft on them. If I were still able, they'd know their place."

I lean close and place a kiss on her cheek. "I know my place, Alice. I love you, both of you." My eyes flick to Jasper and back to her. "The truth is, though, I'm going to be running the whole show one day. It's well past time to loosen the reins."

She brushes my cheek. "You're always going to be one of my babies, and that makes letting go really hard."

I grip her hand and hold it tighter against my face. "Don't let go, Alice. Fight. Stay here with us."

"As long as I can," she says, her voice cracking under the heaviness of her own mortality. "But I'm done with the treatments and done with a hundred pills a day. When the pain becomes unbearable, I'm going to let go."

My eyes get a little misty, but I keep them on her as I give her a nod, so she knows I understand and accept her decision. "I wouldn't ask for anything more." I kiss her palm and drop our hands, my eyes falling with them. "I'll never forget what you've been to me all my life. Never." My eyes are fierce as they snap to hers.

"I know you won't, son. I love you," she says as she relaxes back against the pillows Jasper has already rearranged for her.

I take a deep breath and blow it out, standing and slipping my hands into my pockets. I'm torn. Not wanting to leave but desperately needing some fresh air. As I turn, her voice meets my ears. "Nice suit by the way."

I smirk and keep walking until she speaks once more. "Bring her next time."

My feet falter, but I don't respond or turn back for fear of her seeing the lie in my eyes. "There is no her, Alice," I throw over my shoulder as I walk out the door.

Letting myself out, the mood is heavy as I make my way to the Porsche, but the fresh air helps to clear my head. So much so that once I get moving, I turn off the air and roll down the windows, hitting the Interstate and reveling in the wind as it reinvigorates my weary heart.

A ding from the dash brings my eyes downward to the fuel gauge. Almost empty. "Cazzo!" I slip through three lanes of traffic to take an abrupt right onto the closest exit, setting my sights on the Chevron sign in the distance.

It annoys the fuck out of me to even have to stop at a station, as Demetri usually makes sure my cars are well-equipped, but I guess he didn't expect me to be driving the Porsche anytime soon. I can understand that. This once.

As I step from the car, eyes are on me, but they always fucking are in situations such as this. Their senses are telling them to be wary—they're fucking right. I'm a danger to every person within sight. It follows me, and even right now, an enemy could have me in their crosshairs.

I glare until the motherfuckers get back to their own lives, and then I slip my wallet from my pocket, swiping my card through the slot at the pump. It doesn't take but seconds before I'm approved and lift the nozzle. Since I'm here, I might as well fill her up. Locking the handle to automatically fill, I cross my arms and start scrutinizing the people coming and going from the store.

When the handle clicks, I remove it from the car and reattach it to the pump. My eyes take one more glance around the area before I slip back into the Porsche. As I rev the engine and grip the gear shift, a hand reaches in and opens the passenger door. A body occupies the passenger seat so fast, I'm unable to grip my gun before a barrel is pushed against my temple.

"Drive," the man orders, and I almost snarl when I realize who it is.

I slam the car in first and burn fucking rubber as I leave the station, taking a right in order to move away from the congested area of the exit. Within a minute, the buildings have thinned, and there are fewer cars on the roadway.

"What the fuck are you doing in my car, Special Agent Swan?" I growl, not taking my eyes from the road. He isn't fucking important enough to spare a glance. He won't kill me. He doesn't have the fucking balls.

"I told you to stay away from Bella," he says, his voice even, and so is his hand that holds the gun to my head.

I fucking scoff, because how would this fucker have any clue whether I've seen Bella or not? "Excuse me," I say, making sure to sound offended.

"Don't play games, Cullen," he says, his voice ticking up a notch. "One of my men saw her enter your parking garage on foot yesterday."

"So?" I shrug. "I was out of the country until late afternoon."

"Cut the shit, boy. She wasn't seen again until this morning, walking down the sidewalk toward her apartment building."

I briefly want to kick my own ass for allowing her to walk home. What the fuck was I thinking? Oh yeah, those fucks I call family had me sidetracked. At least I can be grateful it was daylight, and I've taken care of all future walks.

"That doesn't mean I've seen her," I say, brushing nonexistent lint from the sleeve of my suit.

"She was still in yesterday's clothes!" he snaps, giving the gun a little shove against my temple.

I've fucking had it. I turn my face, so the barrel lands right between my eyes, and grip it tightly with my right hand as my left controls the wheel. "If you're going to shoot me, then fucking do it! Otherwise, what Bella and I do is none of your goddamn business!"

He pushes against the gun, wanting so desperately to use it, but he doesn't—he knows what it would cost him. "You've already endangered her once! I'll be damned if I let you do it again!" He loosens his stance and lowers the gun. His anger is brimming, but there's also defeat.

My eyes turn back to the road. "I've never endangered her. I fucking saved her life."

He snorts. "What? Against some alley punks?"

I glance his way, and the incredulity of his expression is baffling. "Sure. There's no telling what would've happened if I hadn't shown."

"She would've kicked their asses and went home. As it is now, she's courting a much more dangerous man than simple alley punks. One so dangerous, he's almost cost her life before."

I fucking slam on the brakes, and he braces himself as the car skids to a stop on the shoulder. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Carlisle hasn't told you?" he asks, studying me carefully.

"Told. Me. What." My patience with this man is already non-fucking-existent, but he's pushing way past those boundaries and into monster territory now.

"Fuck!" Agent Swan says, turning to look out the window. I give him time, and it pays off because when he faces me again, he starts talking in a detached voice. "Twenty-two years ago this summer, Bella was almost kidnapped. She was only three years old." His eyes turn to mine, and they're filled with hatred. "If another little shit would've minded, maybe it'd never happened. Maybe I wouldn't have had to give up my wife and daughter to keep them safe."

My eyes narrow as I replay his words in my mind. Had I not just rehashed the incident, it probably wouldn't be my first thought, but as it is, I can almost guarantee it's what he's referring to. The little girl's screams echo in my ears, but I can't for the life of me picture her face. All I remember is seeing my little brother and being afraid that the man was going to hurt him.

"You remember, I see," Agent Swan says, breaking me from my thoughts.

"I fucking saved her that day, too," I snarl, angry that my father has failed to inform me of this little piece of information before today.

Agent Swan sticks his fat finger over, his whole body leaning in, and almost jabs me in the fucking chest. _"You're the reason she was there in the first place!"_

My hands clench into fists to keep from knocking his fucking head off. _"I was fucking five._ A little fucking kid _!"_ I rage, leaning my face closer to his. "That's what kids do. Normal kids misbehave."

"Do normal kids stab grown men in the eye with a knife?" he asks in a snide tone, but he also leans back away from me like a smart motherfucker should. "But that's the point," he continues as he looks out the windshield. "I gave her … _them_ up after that to keep them away from the life I'd chosen for myself, and I distanced myself from Carlisle even after they were gone, all in the hopes that she would live a clean, Cullen-free life." His head turns back to me with pleading eyes. "Can't you just respect that? Can't you just leave my daughter alone?"

"I could," I respond, thinking through his words, "but it's not just my decision. Bella and I have an attraction that we've been unable to act on. I won't turn her away _for her own good._ If she's ready to be done, I'll accept it, but it'll only be because you tell her everything and she makes the choice."

"Me?" he asks, his eyes widening.

"Yes, you," I say, jabbing my finger in his direction. "Bella's temperamental on her best day. I'm not about to rock the boat with some bullshit story. The least you can do is be man enough to face her with the truth. Well, your truth, what the fuck ever."

His fucking mustache twitches as he stares at me. I can't quite tell what's going through his mind, but he better keep it to himself if it's bad. This impromptu meeting has already taken enough of my time. What a fucking pussy. Who goes through all this trouble to threaten a mobster when he could simply speak with his daughter?

A little chuckle escapes as that thought slips through my mind.

We are talking about Bella here.

When he doesn't say anything, I snap, "Are we fucking done here?"

He heaves a heavy sigh and rubs his hand down his mustache. "Sure, I'll talk to her."

I smirk. "You do that." I reach over and pull on the door handle. "Now get the fuck out."

"W-what?"

I tilt my head toward the grassy shoulder. "You heard me. Get out!"

"Fucking punk," he mumbles as he climbs out to stand by the car.

My laughter rumbles through the air, and I slap the Porsche in gear and spin the wheel to the left so hard the wind pushes the passenger door closed. The car does a U-Turn in the roadway as I speed back toward the city.

I chuckle to myself as I catch sight of the lone man in the rearview mirror.

* * *

 **I'll be replying as I try my best to get this chapter done today. Probably those after Friday won't get a reply, though. Sorry, but I do read and love each word y'all leave me!**

 **In case anyone cares, soon I'll be posting a few options for the Sharp Turn Series covers on my blog, and I'd love to hear your opinions. Just Google search FayebyrdFiction Blogger, and it'll come right up if you wanna follow so you don't miss it :)**

 **See you as soon as I can!**


	15. Dream Come True

**Fran makes my chapters better, and 2browneyes, Ninkita and Sunshine give me thoughts!**

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 **Gore rating—0 (though you may maim** _ **me**_ **in the end)**

My ride home is spent deep in thought, searching my memory, trying to bring forth even a glimmer of the little girl's face. But it isn't happening. I don't even have any recognition of Charlie as one of the arguing adults. The whole scene is just small flashes and sound bites congregating to only show me the basic overall picture.

Realizing that it's Bella who could've been taken that day is a rough fucking blow, but the monster kicks in and assures me that even at five, he was a bad motherfucker. I chuckle at the fucking irony, but It's not a happy chuckle. It's one that acknowledges the same motherfucker that saved her will be the one to lose her in the end.

Deeper thoughts begin to plague me. Ones that I've never considered before. As a kid, I was just happy the man didn't have my brother, but as an adult with the situation impacting my life, even in such a small way, I have to know if he was ever found. Did he pay with his life? Who was he?

I dial the appropriate number, and Pop's voice sounds through the Porsche's speaker system. "Can I help you, son?"

"Yeah," I say with a snort. "You can tell me why I didn't know the little girl I saved in Olympia was Bella, and who the fuck was the man that attempted to kidnap her."

"You've spoken with Charlie then?" he asks, and he's as cool as a fucking cucumber, not a care in the goddamn world. "And how did that go?"

I glance in the review mirror, even though he's at least twenty miles away by now, and smirk at myself. "Not as well as he'd have liked. I'm still alive."

"Stop taunting the man, Edward. Just fuck the girl and move on from this mess. I don't like the strain it's putting on mine and his relationship," Pop says. There's even a little hint of a whine in there.

"Look, the ball's in his court. If Bella never wishes to see me again after he spills his guts then so be it," I say, and my collar suddenly feels like it's choking me. Grabbing at my tie, I loosen it so I can breathe better. "But I made it clear, and he accepted. It's all up to Bella."

"Up to Bella?" my father repeats, anger seeping into his voice. "Since when does some piece of ass run the fucking show around here?"

"She's not running anything," I snap, my tone hiking up a notch, also, "but neither is Agent Swan. I _will_ have my fill of her if she allows it. This isn't about him or you or even the Outfit. This is about two fucking adults who just want to decide what the fuck they're going to do and when. Got me?"

The line is silent for a measurable amount of time before a quiet sigh filters through the speakers. "Fine," he says. "As long as you and Charlie will stop with your shit, I can breathe easier. I don't like wondering if I'll have to whack my long-time friend for murdering my son."

I roll my fucking eyes. "It's safe to say that won't be happening," I inform him as I turn down my street. "Now about the man, who was he?"

"Edward—"

"No! I may have been a kid then, but I'm not now. Did you find him? Is he dead?" My shoulders tense as they await his reply.

It finally comes as I'm turning into the garage. "I don't know, Edward. We never found him."

My hand grips the shifter and slams it into second, barking the back tires, before flooring the gas and burning rubber all the way down the concrete tunnel. My anger is alive inside me as I brake and slide sideways, fitting perfectly into the parking space. I breathe deeply for a few seconds before my fingers loosen and switch off the engine.

"Do you feel better now?" Pop's voice echoes inside the quiet car, which incidentally still has power only because I haven't opened a door.

"Not fucking really," I snap then sigh. "Fuck, Pop, how could you let him get away?" My head thumps back against the seat as my fingers grip onto my hair.

"I didn't _let_ him do anything. We were on vacation and security was minimal. We always felt safe there, but that incident changed everything. In more ways than one," he adds with a sarcastic chuckle. "Our families always had that one place we could go and … just be. Hang out and not pretend to be enemies. That summer ruined it all. Worst of all for Charlie. He had to let go of everything, so don't ya think I did everything I could to find out who it was? Believe me, son, I'd have put a bullet between his eyes personally if I could've."

I shake my head as I answer. "That's not good enough, Boss. He has to be found. Dead or alive, I have to know."

"Son," he says, "it was so long ago."

"I'll take care of it," I respond, opening the door, which automatically ends our call. Shiny black shoes fill my line of sight as I stand and focus toward the rear of the car. My eyes trail up, a fucking glare already in place. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Demetri asked me to inform you that Mr. Jenks is awaiting you in the lobby, sir." His voice is strong, but he can't hide the slight tremble of his fingers.

I smirk and approach him. "You'll call me Boss or not address me at all. Got me?"

"Y-yes, sss"—he stops and shakes his head—"Boss."

"Good," I say, giving him a hard slap on the shoulder on my way past him.

Demetri gives me an admonishing look, but I only let a loud chuckle escape. The suit has a lot to learn, but I'm the best man he could ask for as a teacher. After me, he'll know exactly how to treat all future clients.

I step into the elevator, taking it up to the lobby. When the doors open with a ding, I step out and scan the room. In a plush chair nearby awaits Mr. Jenks. I clear my throat to get his fucking attention. He jerks around and hastily joins me.

"It's about fucking time," I say as the doors close.

"Don't I know it," he responds, making a point to look at his watch.

Six fifteen.

I tilt my head. "I apologize. I was … sidetracked. You won't be displeased with this meeting, though. I'll make it worth your time."

"Very well."

The rest of the ride is silent, the tension mounting as I consider the seriousness of the assignments I'm about to bestow upon him.

When the elevator opens with a ding, relief fills me as I find the penthouse empty—for fucking once. "Have a seat while I make us a drink."

"That won't be necessary, Boss," he says, waving me off. "I like to keep a clear head when hearing details of a new assignment."

I finish pouring two glasses of Gliddenfitch and walk toward Jenks, taking a seat in my chair. One glass gets killed off immediately while the other rests atop the coaster on my side table. "I have two separate requests for you today," I say as I sit forward and rest my elbows on my knees. "One of them might be a challenge, as I don't have much information, and the other is of utmost secrecy."

"I consider all of our matters to be a secret, Mr. Cullen," Jenks says, producing a pad and pencil. "This time will be no different."

"Very well." I clasp my hands together and meet his eyes. "I want a complete profile of the Miami division." I lift a brow so he understands my meaning. "From soldiers to associates to top members, I want every detail of their organization. All the way down to their business enterprises. I want details on everything they have going on and everyone involved."

As I speak, his fingers stop moving and his eyes widen. "Boss," he starts, but I don't let him continue.

"This is non-negotiable!" I snap, sitting upright. "This would normally be a job for Emmett, but his resources are being used elsewhere. I'll give you two weeks."

He's quiet for a moment before offering a small nod. "I may need to bring on an additional consultant."

I wave my hand. "Bring on who the fuck ever you want, but know this," I say, jabbing my pointer finger at him. "I hold you responsible for any errors in their judgment. Not only will they pay if they double cross me, but you will, also."

He visibly swallows. "I understand."

"Good." I relax back into my chair. "Now the final request doesn't necessarily have a time limit, but I'd also like it to be something you begin work on immediately."

He presses his pencil to the pad. "Go ahead."

"I need you to locate a specific person, who I barely know anything about. My assumption is that he's connected, he's at least twenty years older than me, possibly even thirty, and he only has one eye. The other would've been injured with a knife."

Once again, his pencil is paused as I speak. "Is that it?"

"That's all I have," I say with an apologetic shrug. "A one-eyed man shouldn't be _that_ hard to locate. Right?"

"That's subjective, Boss, but looking through the files I've gathered on the other organizations may be a good place to start."

"That's exactly where you should start. Pay special attention to anyone who my father had issues with in the early nineties." I grab the other glass and pour it back. "This is important to me, Jason. All of it. Use caution but also expediency. These matters are crucial."

"Yes, Boss. I understand. Will that be all?" he asks as he stands from the sofa. At least he chose a fucking cum-free spot. Jesus, that fucker has to go.

"That's enough, don't ya think?" I ask, standing to give him a handshake. "I'll be awaiting any information you have to share."

"Is there anything specific you're looking for that I should notify you of immediately?" he asks as we walk to the elevator.

"Any leads on the man, or if something catches your eye with the Miami situation that you feel I should know. Otherwise, I'll expect your full report in two weeks." I give him a slap on the shoulder as he steps inside and turns to face me.

"Will do, Boss," he says with a nod.

I stand there until the elevator closes before retreating into my penthouse—which suddenly feels empty. With a heavy sigh to expel some of the fucked-up-ed-ness that's been today, I move to my office and fire up the PC. One thing that'll make me feel better is ordering a new fucking sofa. So much so that I'm probably going to get something straight from the showroom floor instead of custom. Fuck waiting two months. That motherfucker needs to be gone now.

After a couple hours of surfing and selecting a subpar option, I'm finally able to shut down the fucking computer with a sigh. It's been a long goddamn day, and I can hear my bed calling my name—as long as my duvet is clean.

I head to the end of the hallway and turn off most of the lights, just leaving a few key ones on in case I get up in the middle of the night—you just never fucking know. Afterwards, I begin sliding my suit jacket from my shoulders as I enter the bedroom. I pause and take in the bed. It's neatly made, and if Jessica values her job, it'll be just as fucking clean.

Bypassing it all, I go straight for the bathroom and shut myself inside. Thirty-five minutes later, I reappear with steam wafting from my naked skin as I walk back toward the bed. Pausing at the nightstand, I lift the remote and aim it toward the city skyline spread beyond my window. Slowly, it all fades to black, and the room darkens to just the light coming from the small bedside lamp.

I stretch my muscles and rotate my left shoulder a couple rounds, working out a little of the soreness before climbing beneath the duvet. I pull the material against my nose and inhale. The fresh scent of recently dry cleaned goodness fills my senses. I emit a soft fucking sigh as I close my eyes and shut down my mind.

My dreams are filled with fucked up obscure images of one-eyed men and little girl screams amid a forest so thick I can barely see around me. But then the whole scene changes, and I'm floating on a pillowy cloud with a goddess hovering above me. Her long dark hair cascades over her luminescent skin, and her eyes, though dark, seduce me with their intensity.

They roam over my face and chest, singeing my skin and sending my blood thundering through my veins. The anticipation of her touch has taken my breath, only allowing shallow pants to escape. My whole body is rigid, fucking tense and ready for something—any fucking thing.

Ever so slowly, she settles over me. The heat that sparks as our skin touches is electric, sending a shockwave of fucking want rushing through me. My hands find her thighs, gripping firmly, desperate to settle her heat over my cock, but she holds firm. Instead, pushing her hands up my chest as she lowers her face closer to mine. Each move causes my desperation to soar. I just need … more.

Her lips skim over my chest and up my neck with intermittent swipes of her tongue. My perfectly trimmed nails dig into the skin of her thigh as her lips get closer to mine. I'm on the edge, ready to drown in her essence and burrow beneath her skin.

When her lips ghost over mine, a spark ignites, and my hands slip up her naked back, pulling her down and holding her to me. Shockwaves of sensation arc between our skin. Her breathing accelerates, and her teeth latch onto my bottom lip, leaving her open and vulnerable to my attack.

My tongue thrusts inside, and her taste overwhelms me, sending my senses into a tailspin that I never want to end. I'm delirious from a drug I hadn't even known existed before now.

Passion.

It throbs through me in clear and decisive beats, bending me to its will, dominating my every action. But I'm not the dominant one here—she is—and she proves it by disrupting the most intense kiss I've ever experienced.

"Ah, ah, ah," she breathes, lifting and taking her lips with her, but I can't be bothered to care. The pale skin of her tits glows as they settle at eye level.

I swallow to rid myself of the drool, yet before I can act, she leans closer, her lips at my ear. "You're injured. Let me take care of you," she murmurs, her voice husky and seductive. Her lips and tongue dance along my neck, smothering my instinct to resist.

A satisfied rumble builds in my chest, but lodges in place as she lifts her lower half and positions her slick pussy atop my straining cock. My eyes roll back in my head, even though I wish I could keep them open, and the grumble turns into a grunt as she slowly moves over me.

"Jesus fuck, solare." I lift my hips to gain even more friction. "Sto morendo di fame per voi."

Her thrusts slow, moving over me at a torturously slow pace as she leans down, her skin shimmering. "While your voice is beautiful in Italian, I want to understand your words."

"I said I'm starving for you." I grind against her again. "Please, Bella."

She presses a kiss against my lips and leans up, emitting her own sigh as the pressure against her clit increases. "That's it, baby," I croon, attempting to snake a hand down her stomach, but she stops me short.

Lacing our fingers, she seeks my other hand and does the same, pinning them on either side of my head. Now she has the leverage she needs to dish out as much punishment as she likes, but as long as she's fucking touching me, I'll be fine in this divine hell.

Instead of cloudy white softness, we're now encased in darkness with the only light source being the reflection of her pale skin as it glows in the nonexistent light. Braced over me, she is ethereal as her lips open and a low moan escapes. Her pace quickens as her hips rock in an exotic rhythm. I'm a happy voyeur under her control.

She lifts swiftly, her head lolling back, and I eagerly provide the required leverage by raising our entwined hands and pushing her to keep pace. I've never seen a sight so beautiful in my life as her body tenses above me. Her lips fall open, and a series of sexy sounds begin to slip from her mouth. She begins to shudder, and I urgently rock her against me, desperate for her completion.

As her passion begins to dissipate, she swiftly changes direction.

Removing one of her hands from mine, she barely misses a thrust as she lifts and positions me. My cock fills her in one solid thrust. I almost lose it, as I can feel the spasms of her lessening orgasm, but I grit my teeth and fight to maintain control. This can't be over. I haven't had enough.

Her body comes down and covers mine, our lips like magnets. My hands are free, and they roam her curves, caressing and grabbing and worshipping and possessing. My fingers burn to feel every radiant inch of her at the same time my head is clouding with her taste.

I'm drowning in her, and I don't even fucking care. My psyche has created perfection and is reluctant to allow it to slip through its fingers. Time is suspended, unmoving, as two minds and bodies connect.

Two souls intertwine.

Slowly and efficiently, we discover every aspect of the other. I briefly wonder if this will matter in the real world but quickly discard that notion because it'll never exist in the real world. A monster lives there, and he'll never allow me to feel as I do right now.

I realize more than Bella is glowing. A rose-colored hue has surrounded us, a blanket of something unfamiliar to me, but I absorb it anyway. It feels too good to ignore. I take everything this goddess is offering because in the light of day it'll only be a warm memory.

As the passion explodes around us, I tangle our legs and grip her shoulders from behind, locking us in a tight embrace. Her slick luminescent skin slides against mine as short, powerful thrusts connect us on a level that is foreign to me. Her lips lean in and mimic the motions of our bodies, her tongue forceful yet slow, creating a kiss so deep I'm afraid I might drown.

The intensity explodes and an electric spark arcs between our lips. She snatches away only to release a desperate whimper. My muscles tighten, holding her closer, driving deeper inside as her peak closes in once more.

"Edward," she moans, her fingernails digging into my skin. "Please."

"Dimmi come ti piace," I say, and then repeat. " _Tell me how you like it_ , solare. I need to hear you."

"So good, Edward," she says on a low moan.

Everything spirals in a swirl of euphoria as our bodies climb to the highest pinnacle. Her vocals become more pronounced as she tightens around me, causing a quiver to erupt in my stomach and race downwards. I chase her orgasm before allowing my own, but when I do release, it's with a startled grunt as the rose glow blooms to a bright burst before fading into nothing.

Everything goes black.

When awareness settles over me, before I even open my eyes, the vividness of last night's dream is already pulsing behind my lids. Skin clashes and emotions war as the scene replays through my mind. My chest constricts as I witness the couple express pure emotion with their bodies.

The monster growls and pushes the feelings away, but as wakefulness settles in, a couple of things begin to fuck with my head. Normally my bed is smooth and cool, but I'm unusually warm. Do I smell flowers? And what is that fucking noise?

I finally open my eyes, but when I move to stretch my arms, something is weighing my left one down. With caution, I carefully work it free as my heart starts hammering in my chest. I've been here before, sort of, and it was just this morning.

Terrified of what I'll find, I pan my eyes to the left where there's an additional mound under the duvet. My blood feels like fire as it races through my veins. The monster roars, but my chaotic thoughts overwhelm him.

No!

With trembling fingers, I switch on the bedside lamp and lift the duvet as gently as possible.

Lying naked and blissfully asleep is Bella.

My stomach churns at the implication. I switch off the lamp and throw on the first clothes I can find. Grabbing my wallet, I make a beeline for the elevator and the safety of Anthony's apartment.

On the way down, I rescind Bella's thumbprint permission for access to the penthouse.

Leaning against the wall with my mind in turmoil, I slide to the floor, wondering what the fuck happened last night.

* * *

 **Let's not fail to notice where our ConfusedWard is—** _ **sitting on the floor**_ **. I think that says a lot ;)**

 **Sharp Left Turn has been completed, and I'll be spending the day doing a read-through and final tweaks. (Along with review replies!) I made a new blog post this morning … if you're interested in the covers and some specifics on the series. You can find it here …**

 **Fayebyrdfiction dot blogspot dot com … Post title is "Specifics."**

 **I'll see you in two weeks :)**


	16. Pit of Confusion

**Fran is the fab beta babe, and Sunshine, Ninkita and 2browneyes are nice enough to preread. Thanks, ladies :)**

* * *

 **Gore rating—0**

I snatch the bottle from my lips, infuriated that it tastes like water and enraged at the fire-breathing dragon who dares to stare me down. "The fuck you doing here, Emmett?" I intend to growl, but it comes out as a slur, my voice dragging due to misuse and a lot of alcohol.

His too large forearms cross over his too wide chest. "What the hell, Edward. I haven't heard from you in three days! Your phone's been off, you haven't been to the club, and your penthouse hasn't had anyone access it, aside from Jessica, since Bella left three mornings ago."

My stomach churns at her name, but the monster takes over and locks that shit down. "Good fucking riddance." I snort and take another gulp of the water-flavored vodka.

"Ahhh," he says, his whole form vibrating with the motion. "What happened?" He's all soft-talking now, nothing like the bulldog who came in here demanding answers.

I ignore his question and ask a few of my own. "How did you find me? Better yet, how the fuck did you get in? There's no electronic mumbo-jumbo for you to override here."

He shrugs—I think he does anyway—and looks away. "Yeah, about that. You may need to replace the door."

My head thumps back against the wall. "You broke down my fucking door?" I ask, accepting the inevitable. He's found me. The jig is up. My alone time is over, and I haven't figured out a goddamn thing.

He shakes his head, and I can tell because it vibrates ten times more than the rest of him, and moves to Anthony's small kitchen. "My brother dropped off the map for three days, of course I broke down the door." He walks over with a glass—of real fucking water, I suppose—and kneels beside me. "I'm just happy you're alive."

"Cazzo," I swear and take the glass, because even though they're blurry behind the large, square frames, those puppy dog eyes of his are begging. As I gulp the water, I realize that, no, the vodka doesn't taste the same. This is refreshing and cold and just what I need if I'm going to clear my head.

When the glass is empty, I hold it back out to him. "More, please."

"Let's get you off the floor first," Emmett says as he lifts my right arm and slips his beneath it. My eyes widen as I take in his words and focus on all the shit around me.

I _am_ on the floor.

Jesus Fucking Christ!

What has she done to me?

My legs are wobbly when I finally do stand, because God knows how fucking long I've been down there—it all blends into one long episode of confusion.

Think and drink.

Get slapped around by the monster.

Think and drink some more.

I've come to terms with the realization that _it_ did, in fact, happen. I just don't know where that leaves me, or what I'm supposed to do next. If the monster has his way, we'll clip her on the way home from the club and make it look like a mugging.

The forceful thought causes my chest to constrict so tightly that I find myself gasping for air. I'm clawing at my throat as strangled, oxygen-reduced gurgles are the only sound I can make. Slender, wire-y arms wrap around me from behind and crush my chest even more as they squeeze and release.

"Edward! Edward!" he yells as he pumps his arms.

Darkness starts to seep into the edges of my vision as my heart rate spikes due to the terrifying prospect that I may never again inhale oxygen. The monster cackles and pushes images of a lifeless Bella, dead in the alley, into my mind. I choke out a gasp and use that little puff of air to slam that motherfucker against his cage.

For the first time in days, I'm in complete control. I unleash my fury on the part of me that's run rampant for far too fucking long. Once he's sufficiently been caged, the next thing I do is burst from the choking effects of my brother's skinny, yet surprisingly strong grip.

"Geso Christo, Em! Are ya trying to fucking put me in the grave!" I growl—once I've taken a few deep, fulfilling breaths.

He straightens his glasses from where I about knocked them off his nose. "You were choking, man! I had to do something."

"I wasn't fucking choking," I reply, resigned to the fact that I just had a goddamn panic attack.

Me.

Edward Fucking Cullen.

Apparently has fucking anxiety over some chick's proposed death.

Fuck!

I flop back onto the sofa.

She isn't just some chick, she's fucking Bella, and the thought of something happening to her makes me sick to my fucking stomach. Shit! That only deepens the pit of confusion I've been swimming in for the past three days.

Emmett drops down beside me. "What's going on, man? I don't think I've ever seen you like this. You're always cool, calm and in control." He tilts his head down and eyes me over the rim of his glasses. "And you've never hidden from anything."

"This just isn't _anything_ , Em. I fucked up." I shake my head, which makes everything go fuzzy. I prop my elbows on my knees and grip my head to stop the spinning. "I slept with Bella," I say to the floor.

Emmett barks out a laugh. "Yeah. So?"

My stomach churns at his nonchalance—it was anything but. "So?" I let out an ironic chuckle and stand swiftly, pinning him with an incredulous stare—I think. "So, I don't do that!" I spew like a madman. "I thought it was a dream! An incredibly amazing dream, but _a_ _fucking dream_!" I start pacing. "One minute I was asleep, dreaming about something from a long time ago, and the next, I had this beautiful goddess hovering over me. I gave in. I let her do what she wanted with me. It was … " I flop back on the sofa, exhausted, and cover my face. "Jesus fuck! It was … it was like nothing I've ever felt."

"So the goddess was Bella, not a dream," Emmett says gently, and it's not a question, either. He claps me on the shoulder, his hand gripping tightly. I think it's meant to offer comfort, but it only sets me on edge.

I don't need his fucking pity party. I need to get myself together and move the fuck forward. I shake off his hold. "Get me some more fucking water!"

"Whoa," he says, holding up his hands. "I don't mind getting you some water, but you need to chill." He shrugs. "So it wasn't a dream. What's the big deal?"

I rub my throbbing temples. "It's not a big deal," I say evenly, trying to convince myself. "It's nothing at fucking all!" I jump up and grab the glass, storming to the kitchen. Fuck him and his fucking observations. I'll get my own goddamn water.

And where the fuck is the Aspirin?

Escaping to Anthony's small en-suite, I toss things out of the medicine cabinet in search of those elusive white pills. My hand closes around the bottle like a lifeline, and the top almost pops off under my crushing grip. I breathe deeply through my nose, trying to tamp down my irrational anger at an inanimate object.

"Come on, Edward," Emmett says from the doorway. "Talk to me." His voice is gentle and soothing, as if he's trying to entice a child. "There's obviously something going on, and I need to understand."

My shoulders crumple under the weight of his pleas, and I turn to face my little brother—the person who means more to me than anybody. My chest tightens, and I take a deep breath, expanding my lungs and pushing the strange feeling away. I rub my fingers over the small pang that remains as I blow out the breath.

"Even I don't understand, Em, so I don't see how you can," I reply, shaking my head sadly.

He walks over and throws his arms around me, pulling me tightly to him, giving me a hug like I haven't had in a long time. "It's probably simpler than you think," he says as he pulls away. "Now take four of those and let's have a seat."

Expelling a hollow chuckle, I yank the top off the bottle and pour a few in my hand, tossing them down my throat. I follow it up by killing the glass of water and refilling it once more before trailing to Anthony's bed where my brother's settled.

I sigh heavily as I take a seat, scratching at the itchy hair that's covered my face as I've sat here arguing with the monster for days. "I think I'll be okay now," I say in a gruff voice. All the yelling and choking has taken its toll, I suppose.

Emmett turns his baby blues my way and eyes me curiously, one side of his lip ticking up. "Is that really what you think?"

My brows draw together in the center. "Of fucking course," I say with a shrug, brushing off his knowing look. "I've had a bad few days, but it's nothing I can't overcome."

"What about Bella?" he asks, crossing his arms.

With his gaze on me, I make every effort not to wince at her name, but even so, I feel it all the way to my gut. "What about her?" I ask, projecting what I hope is a good game face.

He shakes his head, his eye falling to his lap. "You can't just pretend it never happened. It won't work."

"I fucking _know_ it happened, Em!" I jump up and start pacing. His refusal to let this go is driving me crazy. "It was a mistake, a momentary lapse. Realizing there's a problem is the first step in making sure it doesn't happen again."

"Umm." He rubs his hand over his freshly shaven chin. "Somehow I get the impression that Bella didn't think it was a problem."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" I snap, irritated with his vague, know-it-all attitude.

He stands and grabs my arms. "It _means_ ," he says as he walks me over to the bed and shoves me into a sitting position, "that while you were here, hiding from the world, Bella was constantly trying to gain access to the penthouse, though she wasn't successful." He rubs that fucking chin again, looking off as if he's thinking hard, but it's all a ruse. He's mocking the fuck out of me, because his nosy ass knows every electronic move I make.

Fucker.

But my irritation at him isn't the only thing I feel. No. I feel for Bella, too. Too fucking much if I'm being honest. But aside from that, I feel horrible for whatever she must've felt at my disappearance and the subsequent rejection of her thumbprint access.

"Have you talked to her?" I ask, bracing myself for his reply.

His shoulders slump as he drops all pretenses. "At first she was confused, but now?" He shakes his head and gives me a pitying look. "Nope, she's moved straight to pissed. I'm pretty sure you won't have any problems in making sure it never happens again."

"Good," the monster says before I can stop him. A battle ensues in my mind, and my body feels as if it's taking the brunt of the force. Receiving blow after blow, it crumples in on itself as the two sides of me war, but in the end, the monster's right. I can't be more for her than a fuck—and that was no fuck.

"Ed—" Em starts, but I throw up my hand, cutting him off.

"This is the way it has to be," I say, expelling any lingering pussy-ness. "Bella's a fantastic woman, but the level of emotions she causes is more than I'm prepared to feel. None of us are safe if I'm not at peak mindset, and this proves I can't be that with Bella. She fucked with my head."

"Or your heart," he adds quietly, his blue eyes burning into me.

I shrug. "Maybe. I guess we'll never know."

He stands with a snort. "Only my brother would think he can control all."

I toss a pillow at his retreating form. "And don't you forget it."

He pauses in the doorway and turns back to me. "Get cleaned up, and I'll see you later this afternoon … At the penthouse." His brow lifts in a dare, and I'm not one to take those lightly.

I scrub my hands over my hairy face. "Done. Give me a little bit to shower and take a nap. Say, four?"

"Works for me."

With Emmett gone and my head clearer than it's been in days, the monster settles, happy he's won me to his way of thinking. And he has—to a fucking extent. I'm still torn over what to do where Bella's concerned, but only whether to apologize for my actions like a man or leave things as they are. Approaching her again can only bring a whole fuckload of trouble, but the urge to make sure she knows she did nothing wrong is thumping within me like a steady, distant drumbeat, ever present and soul-rattling—if I had one, that is.

My shower and shave pass by in a blur, doing nothing to clear away the murkiness that's been left behind from this whole ordeal. I still feel … off, somehow, and the only way I know to get back in the game is full speed ahead. So, I do. Starting with reclaiming my fucking penthouse. I mean Anthony's place will do in a pinch, but even thinking I spent three days here creeps me the fuck out.

As the elevator climbs, so does my heart, and by the time it dings at my foyer, I can hardly breathe, it's lodged so high up in my throat. A few deep, cleansing breaths allow it to settle, and I'm finally able to step from the doors.

A faded flowery scent assaults me, and my head swims, but the monster propels me forward with a snarl. I chuckle at his hard-ass tactics as I enter my room, pausing once I've stepped through the doors.

It looks like every other time I've entered it. Only a nightstand lamp lights the dark space. No signs of the epic disaster remain, and I release a heavy sigh. Thank fuck. I'm not sure I'm ready to face the repercussions, even in such a trivial fucking way. At some point and time, I'll have to make a conscious decision, but for now, I just need sleep.

I strip Anthony's subpar clothing as I stroll toward my bed, my mind bogged down from all it has endured in the past few days. Even the monster is sluggish after such a grueling standoff. By the time I'm beneath the downy softness of my duvet, my eyes are as heavy as the weight on my chest.

Within seconds, I'm off to the mysterious land of my subconscious where the monster has no sway. I'm allowed to relive every sumptuous second of the connection Bella and I shared, knowing this time that it was all real. The beauty of every action, thought and feeling is on full display, beckoning me to embrace it, to give in and allow myself to have it again.

An incessant buzzing brings me to the surface, my eyes too heavy to open. My hand flies out and absently slaps at the nightstand to kill the annoying alarm. The room once again falls silent, and I float halfway between here and there. A dinging sound breaks through the haze, causing me to search my mind for its origin.

The elevator.

Emmett.

That's why my alarm was fucking blaring.

I struggle to open my eyes, and due to the dark windows—a leftover from the last night I spent here—the sun doesn't scorch my retinas. Thank fucking God. I don't know how much more distress I can take right now. My fucking chest still feels like there's a brick house sitting atop it, even after a few hours of rest.

A throat clears at my doorway, and my heart goes from silent, heavy thumps to thundering against my rib cage in milliseconds. Not because it scares the hell out of me. No. It's because, even with something so miniscule as a throat clearing, the voice is highly recognizable.

My eyes jump to the slender figure, who's casually propped against the doorjamb like my own personal sinful demon. From here, I can't make out her expression, but her appearance alone is enough to stir the slumbering monster. My jaw clenches tightly as I toss him into his fucking cage and throw the keys to the dark recesses of my mind.

Bella's here, and I haven't realized how desperate I am to see her until this very second. I swallow as she straightens and begins strutting across the room. Her every curve is highlighted by the tightness of her barely-there clothes, and the natural way in which she approaches shows off her womanly sway.

I'm fucking hypnotized.

But I always have been.

"Bella," I mumble, but it comes out as a desperate groan.

"You're back," she says as she crawls across the bed to hover on all fours just a foot away.

My confused eyes fall to her ample cleavage before returning to her own. I reach out, pushing her hair behind her shoulder and lick my dry lips. "How did you … " I trail off, afraid she'll disappear if I finish the question.

Her head tilts to the side. "How did I what?"

I shake my head. "Never mind."

She crawls forward, pressing her upper body against my chest. Her face is so close that if I lean forward only a small bit, her lips will be against mine. The monster rattles his cage, but I nail that bitch to the ground. This is mine. I want it. I won't allow him to take it from me again.

She relaxes against me, laying her head against my shoulder as the rest of her settles into my side. Her hand goes to my chest and lower, drifting over the tense planes of my abdomen. My eyes fall closed, only to be bombarded with the images and feelings from last time we were so close.

The rhythm inside my chest matches her soothing caresses, soft and steady. Though my room is dark, just like before, there's a glow that seems to surround us.

Her.

I'm not sure, but it's fucking there. I feel it as much as I see it.

"Were you going to ask how I got in here?" she asks. Her tone is soft, not wrathful as I expect.

Her hand slips low, beneath the duvet, and my breath catches. "Yes," I say as I exhale.

She brings her hand back up to my chest, her nails digging across my flesh, which only excites me further. "Oh, it's was nothing. Just a childhood friend doing me a solid."

Her nails slip beneath the duvet again, and she runs one against my rock-hard cock on her way to gripping my balls. A gargled moan escapes as she tightens her hold.

"Bella," I say on a strangled gasp as her nails pierce my sensitive flesh.

"What's that, Edward?" she purrs, her lips just beneath my ear. "Does it hurt?" She squeezes again for emphasis. "It's nothing compared to what I felt when I awoke alone. Fucking abandoned after the most sensual night of my life."

"S-sol—" I can't even speak, her anger, both figurative and literal, causing the endearment to die on my tongue.

She squeezes tighter, robbing me of oxygen, my body frozen in place by the utter terror of making the wrong move. "But then I thought maybe business interfered, and I'd see you soon. Until I tried to come back, that is." Her teeth close on my earlobe, and she tugs, hard, releasing me with a rough scrape. "Don't worry, I won't ever try again."

She releases her hold on my balls, and I curl in on myself, gripping my chest to keep my heart from following her as she sashays across my room. Once at the door, she stops and spares me one more look—it's as cold as fucking ice—before she struts out of my door.

And out of my fucking life.

* * *

 **I really really hate that I'm only able to post this every two weeks, but it's the best I can do. I'm sorry!**

 **Once again, I feel I need to say a huge thank you to my reviewers. I wouldn't still be putting out words for this fandom if it weren't for the people who take the time to stop and let me know they enjoy them … or not, even. Thank you all so much!**

 **See you in two weeks :)**


	17. Coming To Terms

**Fran is the chapter fixer, and Sunshine, 2browneyes and Ninkita pre-read for me. Thanks, ladies!**

* * *

 **Gore rating—0**

"Talk to me," I snap into my phone in lieu of any pleasantries.

"Boss," Jason says in his usual respectful yet reserved voice. "I think I've found something on our mystery man."

"Do you _think_ or know. I'm in no mood for fruitless bullshit," I reply, rubbing my thumb deep into my temple.

"I'd say there's a ninety percent chance I've found him," he replies, and my interest is piqued.

"Are you going to tell me before we get old and fucking die?"

"Yes, Boss, of course," he replies, and I almost feel bad for being such an ass, but that thought quickly fades as he starts speaking again. "Though he was never affiliated officially with any of the various organizations, he was a hired man and worked for several of them. As far as I can tell, he's related to the Kings, but only by marriage, and only through Royce and Ronald's mother."

"Where is he?" I ask because I can give a fuck less about any of that. I just want his ass on the other end of my fucking gun—while he talks, of course.

Jason takes a pause before he answers, which doesn't endear him to me any, but I wait patiently. "Funnily enough, Miami."

"That is interesting," I say, mostly to myself. My mind is already spinning through ideas, even though I don't have the full details yet. "Go on."

"He's in a high-end elderly resort. Seems he had a stroke about ten years ago, and he's been switched around to a few different facilities. He just landed at this one last week."

He pauses, and my mind is quick to make the leap. "A new facility may not recognize all the differing family members who may visit."

"That's my thoughts, Boss. Would you like me to make contact?" he asks.

An evil chuckle escapes before I can stop it. "Oh, no. I'll take it from here. You just need to double check, because if my trip turns out to be worthless … do I even need to finish this?"

"You make your arrangements. I wouldn't have called if I wasn't confident," he replies, and I do believe there's a hint of a challenge in his voice.

If I were in a better mood, I might toy with him a bit more, but as it is … I just don't give a fuck. "Then it's a done deal. Email me the information."

I toss my phone on the desk and lean back, several scenarios flooding my mind. My blood is zinging in my veins and thundering in my ears. This is usually when the monster is salivating at his bars, but that motherfucker hasn't made a sound in the past two days.

For fucking once, he knows better.

After Bella left the other day, I laid in my bed, waiting for Emmett to show up and say, "I told you so," but he never did. I spent the rest of the night and into the next day in and out of consciousness. Sometimes I buried myself in the night Bella and I spent together, and sometimes I suffered through the last time I saw her.

I still fucking suffer.

Small, crescent-shaped scabs line my nut sack, but that's nothing compared to the brick that's lodged in my fucking chest. Taking a deep breath is a massive undertaking and swallowing anything aside from water is fucking uncomfortable as hell. Sometimes, I worry I won't get enough oxygen, but there's always just enough to fucking survive.

The music from two floors below vibrates through the walls, and just knowing she's down there seems to lift the weight but only slightly. I realize now how bad I fucked up, but I don't know any way to change it. And she's made it clear it can't be fixed, so what's left to do?

Wait it out.

This heaviness that's almost smothering me has to go away at some point.

Right?

The laptop on the desk chimes with an email, and I lean forward eagerly when I spot Jason's name. Opening the file, a series of pictures greets me, and the younger man draws me in first. There're several of them, both before and after the eye injury, yet none of them fill in the vague image in my mind. I finally settle on the last shot; an old man, resting in a hospital-like bed, one side of his face sagging.

But it's the scar that sends my blood roaring. All the skin is pinched together where his eye should be. A small vertical line is the anchor to all the skin in that area of his old, haggard face. You can barely fucking tell he once had a top and bottom lid. They're just tiny slits that blend in with his wrinkles.

The perfect scar for a mini pocket knife.

A deliciously evil smirk creeps onto my lips as I grab my phone from the desk. It's answered within two rings—of fucking course. "Boss. What can I do ya?"

"Anthony and Carl need another weekend away," I say, rocking back in my chair. "I'm thinking Miami this time. Carl has an uncle there in a nursing home who could use a visit while Anthony attends his weekend workshop."

"Is this about the Kings?" he asks.

"Not this time, though I can imagine they'll be in the picture before long. This is an old score that needs to be settled," I say, my voice hardening as the screams—Bella's screams—echo in my head. "Have Emmett set the whole thing up." I click on the date icon on the PC. "It's Tuesday now. He should be able to book a conference room at a decent hotel and fill a few rooms with imaginary workshop goers by Friday evening. Give him a call and get it done."

"Boss," he says hesitantly, and he's lucky I'm still even on the phone to hear him, but I expected resistance. "It's generally not in the scope of everyday business for me to contact Emmett. Ya know, since he's not officially connected and all."

I snort. "Isn't it your job to do what the fuck you're told?"

"Yes, Boss," he says on a sigh with a probable eye roll or some fucking mimicking bullshit I can't see.

"Then fucking do it!" I sling the phone across the room.

My blood boils—even though he's right. It's not his job to liaison with Emmett on an Outfit related mission, but fuck Emmett—for now at least. I have nothing to say to his skinny, liberty-taking ass. He had no fucking right to interfere in something that's none of his goddamn business. Especially not at the expense of my fucking balls. And that's really all it boils down to. I can't make myself be mad at Bella—I deserved it—so Emmett gets the brunt of the monster's rage for sending her up. But I love my brother, and so does the monster; therefore, he's safe, just on my shit list this week.

Childhood fucking friend. I scoff. That's all the proof I need that she knows of our history. I'm sure Charlie Fucking Swan left no stone unturned in his baseless plea, though her actions weren't about that—at fucking all. Her approach left no question as to where her anger lies.

I fucked up.

I felt too much.

Unable to quell the urge thinking about her brings, I move the mouse and wake the sleeping laptop. Opening the security app, I scan through the thumbnails, selecting the frame I wish to view at a closer range. Once it fills my screen, I click on the little icon, which allows me to rotate the camera, and use the pointer arrows to navigate it until it's focused on her.

Then I zoom.

My lip disappears between my teeth as I take her in. She's different tonight. Dressed in all black with heavy makeup and long leather boots with some of the highest and narrowest heels I've ever seen. Her movements are as sensual as always, but they're also aggressive.

My fist lodges in my mouth.

For one split second, her eyes pass over the camera, causing my heart to pound heavily. On her next rotation, she kicks out her leg and hooks it over the shoulder of the first male in the vicinity, pulling him within arm's length of the platform. Her hand grips his hair tightly, and she thrusts her hips, guiding his head to mimic a vulgar display.

My teeth break the skin as I do my best to contain my rage—not the monster, but Edward Fucking Cullen. I release a growl as I stand and prop my palms on the desk, leaning closer to the screen. It's then that I see it.

Her head is thrown back, but her eyes aren't closed. No. They're focused dead on the camera, narrowed and defiant. My hands slap against the desk before I begin to pace. She's fucking daring me to stop her, and I'm _always_ willing to take a dare.

Storming from the room, I charge to the elevator and take it down the two floors necessary to meet her challenge. My fists open and close constantly in an attempt to get my rage under control, lest I choke her to fucking death if she's still touching that motherfucker. My blood thumps to the beat of the music as I finally enter the club at floor level.

I push bodies aside as I make my way toward her platform, and before I even get there, I already know that fucking nonsense is still ongoing. Hoots and cheers are filling my ears and rattling around in my brain. My fists tighten again, and my steps quicken, bodies being shoved out of the way by the force of my shoulders as I bolt through the wall of males between me and the spectacle herself.

When I finally burst through the front line, my eyes snap to the movement on the right. Not only does she have the original lap dog, but another is gripped in her other hand as she takes turns gyrating toward them as they both allow her to do any-fucking-thing she likes.

It feels as if every hair on my body stands on edge as I approach the trio, so calm that even I'm surprised. I simply shove the first body back and slip my arm around her waist, tossing her over my shoulder. The original lap dog may or may not have been knocked on his ass in the fray.

Her fists pound against my back, and her legs fly out as she wiggles and squirms, but I don't give a fuck. Just holding her is goddamn glorious, and I absorb every single second, actually dreading the moment I'm going to have to face her. I walk straight through to the back of the club and smash through one of the emergency exits, landing us in the alley between Grizzly HQ and Cullen Place.

When the stench of the outside air fills my nostrils—or maybe it's the nearby garbage can—I stop and close my eyes for one brief second, savoring the last instance of Bella's skin against mine. Somehow, I'm still able to block out her tantrum, though I know it's happening.

For one peaceful, stinky moment, I just feel.

Way too fucking much.

Once that passes, I slap that shit to the back of my mind and revive the anger over her antics. When it's sufficiently in place, I toss her ass to the rocky pavement without much preamble—I did make exaggerated movements so she had time to catch herself before landing on said luscious ass.

As soon as she gets her balance—I don't fucking know how in those goddamn heels—she flies at me, hand reared back. I grip her wrist tightly. "I don't fucking think so."

Her lips tighten so small they almost disappear as she snatches her arm away and tries—a-fucking-gain—to reach my face. This time to claw out my eyeballs, each hand slinging from a different direction.

I grab both wrists, her left claw just inches from my cheek, and breathing heavily, I stare her down. The fire in her eyes is enough to scorch me where I stand, and my blood simmers in response, igniting that familiar spark that's always burned hotter than the sun.

With rage and frustration clouding my judgment, I react instinctively, shoving her back against the smooth concrete of Cullen Place and bracing her hands against the wall on either side of her face. She's still resisting my every move, but I'm not sane enough to stop myself from making the situation worse.

Pent-up, confusing emotions flow through me and escape by way of irrational actions. Like I'm another person entirely, I lean down and shove my tongue forcefully into her mouth.

And it works.

For about ten seconds.

Ten glorious fucking seconds

Though my mouth is insistent, she meets it with equal passion. Our tongues collide in a flurry of twists and thrusts that are both messy and perfectly in sync. Being connected with her centers me like I haven't been in days, and flashes of a future that could be mine pass through my head, bringing an epiphany that's been elusive.

But just as I come to terms, so does she, in the exact opposite way. Her teeth latch onto my tongue, and she bites down so hard, my grunt of approval turns into a growl of pain as I snatch my mouth away. I turn to spit blood and ball my fist, pounding it into the solid wall beside her head.

She only smirks and crosses her arms.

When I've calmed enough, and my knuckles are as bloody as my mouth, I glare at her. "Are we fucking even now? Can we stop the games and at least have a goddamn conversation?"

She starts jabbing that finger into my chest. "We're more than even, Edward Cullen. We're fucking done! Do not _ever_ approach me again!" She attempts to storm away, but that's not fucking likely.

I grab her arm, causing her fiery eyes to burn through me. "Not so fucking fast," I bark, angry that she's making things harder than they have to be. "I get it, okay? I fucked up, but you can't do shit like that in there." I shove my finger toward the club. "I'm not a man to be toyed with, Bella, you'll only get burned."

She snatches her arm away as she rounds on me. "Is that some kind of fucking threat? Don't mess with the big, bad mobster, or he'll what? Are you gonna ice me or something?" Her hands are flying around all crazily, and her voice is a little hysterical.

I claw my hand through my hair and sigh. "I'd _never_ hurt you, Bella."

She shakes her head sadly. "You already have."

This time when she turns to leave, I let her go, the truth of her words stabbing me like a hundred tiny knives. I don't even bother trying to follow. I simply turn and wander along the side of my building, headed to the front entrance. Feeling defeated like never before, I make my way to the penthouse and into the shower.

I wish I could say I jacked my cock to flashbacks of the defiant fire that burned from within her, but even that isn't enough to bring the holy grail to life. It hangs lifeless and useless—just like my fucking heart feels.

As I climb into bed, my mind, though heavy, is clearer than it's been in the past five days. Tonight brushed away the cobwebs and allowed me to see clearly. Bella's not just another fuck to this perpetual dater. She's smart and caring and sexy as fuck. She's tended to me, more than once, and called me on my bullshit. She's special. She brings sunshine into my life, and now that she's gone, I only have myself to blame for the lingering storminess.

My night is spent tossing and turning, torn between images of a future that won't ever be mine and the mistakes that snatched it from me. The mind is a mysterious thing, and mine is even worse with the monster trolling my thoughts, but even he's missing the compassion she's shared with us in the past.

I spend Wednesday taking care of business, which entails a lot of calls with Caius to finalize the details for the Miami trip since I'm still not talking to Emmett. They've actually done great so far, creating a "throw away" alias for a visit that will lead the cops to nowhere when One-Eye suddenly goes missing. Anthony and Carl will perform as usual for their working weekend getaway, only sparing a few hours to slip off and take care of business with no one the wiser.

Pop's been pretty quiet on this front. He doesn't like that I'm going to Miami for the job, but he also wants it done. He has his own ax to grind, as this man has cost him a lot—as he perceives it anyway.

Thursday morning brings my irate brother barging into the penthouse as I drink my coffee and read the morning paper. "What have you done?" he asks in lieu of any other greeting. "Did you fire her?"

I lift a brow. "Who?"

His eyes narrow behind those dark frames. "Who do you think! Bella!"

"Nope."

"You expect me to believe she just quit for no reason?" He's standing there with his arms crossed, his foot tapping. It's comical enough that I'd be laughing if it weren't for my heart dropping to my stomach.

"Quit?" I parrot, furrowing my brow. "She quit?"

His shoulders drop from their haughty position as he flops down beside me on my new, cum-free sofa. "Yeah," he says in a defeated tone. "I begged her to stay, but she said she couldn't. She was even talking about leaving town."

A small trill of panic rushes through me, but I tamp it down. It's not my place. I lost that right. I _gave up_ that right. "We can't force her to stay, Em," I respond, sounding much calmer than I feel. "Some things are never meant to be."

His head snaps in my direction, and his blue eyes blaze. "Is that the lie you tell yourself to get over what you did?" He stands now, his tall frame towering over me. "You had everything, and you threw it away! How can you be so fucking calm! The only woman to ever mean anything to you is leaving, and you just shrug it off like nothing. How dare you! How could you be so co—"

"Don't you dare lecture me!" I roar, standing and shoving him back. "I _know_ what I lost. I don't need you or anyone else to tell me!"

"Then how can you do it? How can you let her walk away?" he screams back, showing more backbone than Emmett ever has.

"I tried goddamnit! I tried to talk to her, and she wouldn't let me." I drop back to the sofa, defeated. "What would you have me do?" I ask, searching his face.

"Try again," he says forcefully. "And again if you have to. Why do you think I sent her up here the other day, Edward? I didn't imagine it'd fix everything, but unless two people actually talk, _see each other_ , nothing will change." He drops back beside me. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? It was none of my business, but please, don't give up. Not yet."

I've always had a weak spot for his baby blues. "Fine. I'll try again."

"Before you leave?" he prods.

"Before I leave," I say with a definitive nod.

He finally smiles that wide, geeky smile. "Good." He stands. "Okay, I gotta go finalize a few things for your 'getaway,' but I'll talk to ya before you take off tomorrow."

"Thanks, bro." I stand and hold out my fist, something I haven't done in years, but it's worth it when I see my brother's smile deepen as he bumps his against it.

"Later, man."

I'm able to finish my coffee in peace and schedule a meeting with the Capos for later in the afternoon before a call to Demetri. No matter whether Bella works at Midnight Sun or not, I need to know she's safe. She may not want anything to do with me, but Chicago can be a dangerous town, and I'll make sure she's protected as long as she's here. She deserves that much from me—at the very fucking least.

The meeting goes well, and it's after six before Aro, Caius and Marcus are making their way out the door. Aro, the idiot he is, swings his hand wide, expecting some kind of weird, dude shake. I leave him fucking hanging with a brow lift.

"Sorry, Boss. I forget myself sometimes," he says, shrugging his shoulders sheepishly.

"You need to fucking remember from now on," I say, but I add a smirk so it doesn't seem so harsh. I turn to Caius. "See you at the airport. Eleven o'clock."

"Got it, Boss," he replies, following his brothers into the elevator.

As soon as they're gone, I change into a pair of Gucci jeans and a Dolce and Gabbana Henley with my Jimmy Choo high top trainers. Prepared as well as can be, I exit the penthouse and hit the street, intent on walking the same path Bella usually takes just to feel closer to her in some way.

Entering her apartment building is easier than it should be and that automatically irks the fuck out of me, but I remind myself it isn't my place to question her judgment. My teeth grind together as I read the mailbox names and get her apartment number so readily—even though I already knew.

I take the stairs, using the extra minutes to find that center she so effortlessly brings. When I exit onto her floor, I shake off any lingering negative feelings and locate her apartment as easily as everything else. If she does forgive me, getting her to move from here will be a top priority.

I take a couple deep breaths before I knock on the door—three strong raps—and wait. It feels like forever before I hear movement on the other side and even longer before the door opens only a couple of inches.

My heart tumbles to my stomach. Her eyes are red and watery, and she's dressed in a ratty robe with her hair piled atop her head. Even this way, she's more beautiful than any other woman I've ever met.

"Bella," I say, my voice urgent. "Are you okay? Is something wrong?"

She runs her eyes up my form before they connect with mine. "What are you doing here?" she asks, her voice void of emotion.

I push against the door. "I came to talk, but obviously, something's wrong. Let me in."

She tilts her head and gives me a sad smile. "You're what's wrong, Edward."

I stop my onslaught of the door and take a step back, feeling as if she slapped me. "I'm … I'm sorry," I stutter before clearing my throat. "I know I made a mistake, but I need you to try and forgive me. At least let me earn it. Please, Bella. I … I miss you."

"I miss you, too, but sometimes that's not enough." Tears fill her eyes, and she blinks to push them back. "You hurt me."

"Will you let me try?" I ask, dropping to my knees on the dingy hallways carpet. "I have a trip this weekend. Business. And I couldn't leave without telling you. I didn't want you to think that I'd given up. I haven't. I won't."

She's not even trying to stop them now; the tears roll freely down her cheeks. She sniffles. "I'm also taking a trip. I need a few days to clear my head. Away from this city. Maybe we can talk when I get back. _Really talk_."

I crawl on my knees to the tiny crack in the door. "Anything, Bella. Please, say that we might still have a chance."

"I won't rule it out." She wipes her face and offers me a broken smile as she closes the door and twists the lock.

I stay there until she finally moves away—ten minutes later.

* * *

 **I know I wasn't able to reply to everyone last chapter, and if you want the next one in two weeks, I probably won't this chapter, either. But if you ask a question, I will do my very best to answer. I appreciate you all so much!**

 **See you in two weeks :)**


	18. Answers?

**Fabulous Fran is the fabulous beta, and 2browneyes, Sunshine and Ninkita are the pre-readers, though this chapter cut close and I was never able to get it Ninkita. Sorry, lady! I'll do better next chapter.**

* * *

 **Gore rating—6**

Our plane touches down in Miami late Friday afternoon, and I can't be any happier to finally be here. The monster has been suppressed a little too long, and he's restless as hell, chomping at the bit for answers from this one-eyed fuck. Even the blue contacts and gelled hair aren't enough to dull the anticipation zinging through me.

A hired-car ride later and we arrive at our South Beach hotel. I take the lead as we approach the front desk, leaving Carl free to admire the beauty of the lobby as this is more in character for him.

A pretty redhead smiles as she notices my approach. "Good evening, sir. How can I help you today?" She says it in the usual professional manner, but her eyes keep jumping down to scan what she perceives as an expensive suit and the frame that fills it.

I clear my throat. "You can start by looking me in the eye." I slide Anthony's Amex onto the counter. "Then you can check me in."

"Y-yes, sir," she stutters, and I roll my eyes. I'm sure a young girl like her meets a lot of big spenders on her job, but even without Anthony's persona holding me back, it's fucking annoying to be hit on every time I leave the penthouse.

Especially now.

Maybe I never noticed it before, but for the first time ever I actually want something. Someone. I know it, and I can fucking admit it.

"Here you are, sir. Here's your key card. Have a lovely stay," she says, her eyes barely making contact with mine, and not because she's too busy checking me out, either.

"I intend to," I say with a smirk as I turn to check on Carl.

"Anthony, dear," he says, swaying toward me. "I just adore that statue over there." His eyes are sparkling with mischief, but since I have a point to make, it works in my favor.

"Oh?" I lift a brow and lean to see the object he's referring to. Once spotted, I turn back to the redhead behind the computer screen. "Miss, I'd appreciate if you'd add the cost of that statue to my tab. It seems my partner has taken a liking to it."

Her eyes flit from me to Caius before her cheeks darken to match the shade of her hair. "I … I'm not sure—"

"I'll expect it boxed and ready to go on Sunday morning." I wave my hand for Carl to precede me and follow him to the elevator without another word.

By the time we arrive at the room, the bellhop is already leaving our bags. "Thank you," I say, holding out a twenty.

Once we're alone, Caius says, "What the hell was that all about?"

I shrug. "She annoyed me, so I thought I'd make her mistake even more obvious."

Caius barks a laugh. "Annoyed you? How?"

I sigh as I loosen my tie. "Checking me out and shit." I toss the tie on the end table and wave him off. "Can you imagine all the lone male travelers she picks up working at a place like this? Makes me cringe thinking about it."

"I've never seen you cringe over a chick checking you out before. Even as Anthony. There's gotta be more to it than that," he says, studying me, but a knock on the door allows me to avoid his too-fucking-inquisitive observation.

I tilt my head. "Get that, will ya? I'm going to change for the club."

Chuckling to myself, I make my way to the bedroom and change from my suit, donning a pair of True Religion jeans, a Henley and some loafers. I'm ready to head out after a quick piss and an eye-roll at the mirror. Before I even make it back to the main room, the three men are chuckling loudly.

But as soon as I appear, they quiet immediately. I snort, ignoring Caius and Demetri, looking straight to Riley. "What's so fucking funny?"

His ears turn red, and he fake coughs to think of something to say. My glare spears Demetri and Caius before I step closer to Riley. "What was that? I think my ears aren't working since I didn't hear a reply."

"No, Boss. Sorry." Another fucking cough. "We were just talking about that hot little redhead who checked ya in."

My eyes narrow on Caius, but for the sake of my sanity—and his goddamn life—I let it go. "If you're into the fuck-every-man-who-stays-at-the-hotel type, then sure, she was all right."

A look passes between Demetri and Caius, but I let it slide. Demetri knows the deal, and if I'm being fucking honest, Caius will too if I have my way because Bella _will_ be with me. Around me. A part of my life?

I shake my head to clear it of long-term possibilities that I'm not sure will ever become a reality and settle with what I do know. And that's that she belongs with me. She's mine. We just need to work through my fuck up like the two responsible adults we are.

"Let's ride," I say to Caius before looking to Demetri. "Riley can get away with hanging at the club, but I don't think it's the best idea for you to join us. Why don't you circle with the car?"

Demetri palms his chest, being fake-offended. "What, you think older guys like me aren't the type? I'll have you know—"

"Save it, _Dem,_ " I say with a lifted brow. "I don't expect any trouble. We're just two out-of-towners going out for a little fun. Riley can wait ten and enter alone. We'll be fine."

"We _are_ in Miami," Demetri reminds me, like I'm some little fucking kid.

"And no one knows we're here." I don't wait for anyone else to comment. I stalk toward the door and swing it open, looking back to the fuckers still standing there like idiots. "Well?"

"I don't like this," Demetri mumbles as he passes me.

"Good thing I'm the Boss then."

The rest of the night goes just as I fucking expect. Carl and Anthony make appearances at different clubs over the next few hours, pretending to drink more than we really are and hitting the dance floor—blending in as a couple who are checking out the scene in Miami.

By the time we're back at the hotel, I'm ready to get some fucking shut-eye because the sooner it's tomorrow, the sooner I can let loose the antsy motherfucker who's pacing his cage. After a shower, and a good laugh at Caius' ass on the floor, I turn off the lamp and slide between the stiff cotton sheets.

My eyes pop open before daylight, and I'm already showered and in character before room service is delivered. It's the same con as Mexico. Carl's bare leg is on display, and there's only a towel around my waist, asking for breakfast to be set up in the bedroom. After a generous tip, I send the help away and kick Caius' leg … hard.

"Get up, motherfucker. We got shit to discuss."

Since so many of the plans were made during the few days I refused to speak with Emmett, I'm a little out of the loop on final arrangements, but I know whatever they have planned is good to go. As long as it gets me some private time with the old fucker, I'm happy to follow along.

I throw on my suit and roll the breakfast cart into the main room of our suite so Caius can get up and dressed while I eat. In less than ten minutes, he's sauntering in the room and flopping into the closest chair.

"Smells good," he remarks, removing the dome from his plate of eggs benedict. "Fancy."

"Whatever," I say with an eye roll as I toss aside the paper I'm reading. "So fill me in on the plan. The part before I come into the picture."

He takes a bite of his fucking toast so I can see every chew of the doughy bread as he talks. "Since we're here for your "workshop," Emmett thought it better that you actually be at the hotel. Me, Demetri and Riley will get the old fart, and once we have him nice and tucked away, I'll send a text asking you to meet me for a late lunch. That's when you come to the pre-determined location."

"And who selected this location?" I ask, knowing it needs to hide my deeds well. I can't take a chance of getting pegged, especially in Miami.

"Demetri," he says, licking the fucking hollandaise from his fingers.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

I slap at his hands. "Fuck, man, you're disgusting. Finish that shit off and get the fuck gone. I guess I'll make myself visible downstairs this morning since I'm supposed to be attending this workshop."

He shovels the rest of his breakfast into his mouth and stands, wiping off the sauce on the back of his hand. "Will do, Boss. It should take us three to four hours to get him settled into his new digs."

I jab a finger at his disgusting ass. "Nobody fucking touches him, got me? He's all mine."

He holds up his hands and takes two steps back. "Got it. I'm not sure I understand why we goin' after an old has-been anyway."

The monster rebels at his offhanded remark and his throat is in my hand before I realize what I've done. "Did I fucking tell you to question my motives?"

His cheeks are burning red, and his eyes are watering, but all he can do is attempt to shake his head. The monster is nipping and snarling, but I breathe deeply through my nose as I rein him in.

Tossing Caius back a foot, I wipe non-existent lint from my jacket sleeve and say, "Never question me again. _Especially_ when you don't have a fucking clue."

He nods, too embarrassed to say more and pulls the rental keys from his pocket, holding them out to me. "You'll need these. I'm gonna take an Uber to the shopping district where Demetri and Riley will pick me up."

"Isn't that like leaving a roadmap to Anthony and Carl's movements, though?" I ask, taking the keys from his hand.

He smirks, but it's missing the usual cockiness. "It would if Emmett hadn't taken care of it. I've already plugged in the gadget he sent. It has its own whatever it is."

I grab them and slip them in my pocket. "Sounds good."

Two raps on the door keep us from having to interact further—thank fuck—and I simply walk over and toss all the breakfast dishes on the tray, just to have something to do. Demetri and Riley don't even enter, as I imagine Caius gave them the cue not to fuck with me this morning.

I stretch my neck muscles as I take a deep breath and release it. I haven't been this on edge in a while. The monster is clamoring for blood, and he'll take it from just about anybody. I'm not quite sure I'm fit for public company as anything could cause me to snap.

Grabbing the cart, I roll it behind me as I head for the door. I leave it in the hallway and make my way to the elevator, preparing myself to interact with people with every step. Just as the door is closing, a hand slips into the slit, causing them to automatically reopen. My fists clench, but I force them to open and place a smile on my face as the intruder invades my space.

"Morning," the man says with a head tilt as he turns and sees I've already pressed the same floor he's traveling to. "Same destination." He shrugs and slips his hands into his pockets, which puts me on alert even though it's a casual move.

I don't give him a vocal response just a head tilt to acknowledge I've heard him. I'm tense for the ride down to the lobby, but the stranger doesn't make a move, and I stalk past him as soon as the doors open.

For the next three hours, I browse the gift shops and then make my way to the workshop room. Leaving a sign that says _Workshop In Progress_ on the door, I close myself off in the large, empty room, awaiting the text from Carl. Mostly I pace to work off some of the tension that's coiled tight in every muscle I possess. The anticipation is so overwhelming it's causing my adrenaline to spike and my limbs to feel jittery.

When my phone finally chimes, I'm out of my seat and tearing from the building. The car ride feels like forever, and it fucking should. We need to be as far away from Miami proper as possible. I know my reach when it comes to Chicago, and not that I expect the Kings to be anywhere near as good, but I have to think smartly when it comes to killing in their city. Even more so with a relative, no matter how distant and disposable he may be.

Almost two hours later, I pull up in front of a rundown cabin somewhere in the Everglades. The jitteriness from earlier has turned into full-on shaking as I switch off the ignition. Instead of making an attempt to center myself, the monster propels me from the car, a calculating motherfucker on a mission.

When I open the door, one hinge comes loose from the force behind my snatch. I pause, my eyes scanning the room. Riley is standing at the lone window, his machine gun visible as he keeps sentry. Caius is off in the corner, his arms crossed, not saying a word. I don't see Demetri, but I can hear him moving around in a room beyond this one. Once my men are accounted for, I glare at the one tied to a sturdy wooden chair in the center of the room. He starts struggling as his single eye widens to the size of a tennis ball.

I let out a dark chuckle as I stalk toward him, slipping a brass knuckle from my pocket and fitting it into place. Panicked mumbles are escaping behind one-eye's gag. I pull a knife from my suit jack before I take it off and toss it to the floor. It'll be burned anyway.

As I reach forward, the man freezes. "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you." I slip the knife between his skin and the gag and yank. "This time."

"W-what do you want?" he asks, but he looks away. He knows. He knows exactly who the fuck I am.

The monster rages at his flippant question and responds with force. Drawing my fist back, I bring it down and connect the brass knuckle with the top of his arthritic kneecap. He howls, but I don't stop there. I deliver a matching blow to his other knee, and I finish him off with a less than full force cut across the browbone above his scar. This old man is feeble and will probably die before I'm done with him, so I pull back just enough to keep from knocking him senseless.

His head hangs, lolling back and forth before he rights it and tries to look at me again. I help him by grasping his pointy chin in my free hand. "Do you remember me now?" I ask, my voice devoid of emotion. No rage, only pure calculation.

"Fuck you!" he screams. "I know who you are and you can go to hell!"

I smirk and hold out my hand to Caius, who has yet to move. "Hairspray."

He digs into the bag at his feet and comes out with a large aerosol can, tossing it to me. I look back to the defiant old man. "Are you sure? Is keeping your secrets worth your life?"

He spits, and luckily for him, I'm able to dodge the disgusting glob of slime. I shrug and aim the can toward his scraggly gray hair, pressing so the fine mist covers him. After a good minute of constant spray, a lighter sails through the air and I catch it with my free hand, sparking the flame. The old fucker is screaming before the flames reach him, but the monster could give a fuck less. He's taking a goddamn shower in those screams.

Demetri walks in with a tray and sets it on a table that's perched nearby. "Oh, Edward," he says on a sigh. "That singed smell is going to ruin our lunch."

I chuckle and let off the aerosol spray tip, watching the trail of flames die, but the smoke is still rising from the melted glob on his head. "Would you like to start over?" I ask casually, leaning forward to catch his eye. "Or shall we continue?"

He slumps in his seat, and I nod to Caius, who gets up and tosses a bucket of water in the old fucker's direction. Though it doesn't kill all the smoke, I think enough lands on his head to stop the constant burn. With no reply to my question, I move to the next step.

With a flick of my fingers, a cattle prod is tossed in my direction. I catch it and study the long object with two metal prongs sticking out of the end. When I press the button, a charge of electricity arcs between the tips. The man snaps his eye up, and when he sees what I have, he starts rapidly shaking his head.

But he's too late.

At least one electrical shock is on order. I stick the prongs to the side of his neck, making sure the spot is a wet one, and cackle as I hit the button. His form vibrates as if he's having a seizure, and all I feel is giddiness.

Once I pull the prod back, I toss it to the floor and look to Demetri. "Did you say something about lunch?"

Demetri waves his hand over the spread he's laid out. "A feast fit for a bloodthirsty killer," he says loudly, playing mind games with our victim. I know Demetri, and he's probably prouder of me right now than he's been in a while. He was one of the guards who failed to catch this guy twenty, some odd years ago, so this is a long time coming in his eyes.

As we eat a surprisingly decent meal, I let the man stew over his next words because if they aren't the right ones, his fate is sealed. Well, it's already fucking sealed, but the length it takes for him to die can either be minutes or goddamn days. I'm in no fucking hurry.

When I stand before the man again, he drags his one eye up to face me. "They know you're here," he says, breathing heavily. "My death will cause a war."

I lean down and study his wrinkled face closer. I can't tell if he's just being honest or saying it in spite, due to the trauma I've already inflicted, but it doesn't fucking matter. "There may be a war, but your death will only be the excuse. If they cared about you, they wouldn't have left you unprotected. A hit man tossed away as soon as he was no longer useful."

"You did this!" he screams, breaking into a coughing fit. Once it's over, he spits blood and tries again. "Everyone knew I was a dead man just counting his days when I returned from that trip. I'd not only failed the job, but I had an identifiable scar."

"Tell me about the trip," I demand, my voice projecting just how serious I am. "I'll give you a quick death if you tell me why you were there. Was it to kidnap the girl?"

He's the one who cackles now, a crazy squealy whine wheezing through his blood-stained lips. "I could've taken her easily, several times, and looking back, maybe I should have. She might've proved useful." His lone eye lifts and spears me with a look I'm not sure how to decipher before continuing with another cough. "The target was your brother."

The calm from earlier dissipates like fog on a sunny morning, and a fire consumes me. I kick his chair with so much force, one of the legs break away when it lands and some of the rope falls loose. Then I'm on him, my fists pummeling as he tries in vain to cover his head. The brass knuckles are cracking bone as they come into contact with any part of him.

"Who sent you!" I scream, snatching up his limp form so I can see his face. "Why were you after my brother!" I shake him, trying to force his lips to move, but it's all in vain. He's lifeless in my hands. I drop him and stand, my hand going to my hair as I look to Demetri. "Check him over! Revive him if you can."

When he doesn't move, I roar, "Now!"

Demetri moves to the bloodied fucking heap on the floor and after a minute, lifts his eyes to mine. With a simple headshake, I know it's over. I fucking lost it and killed the person with the answers I seek. Anger surges through me, and I swipe everything from the table where we dined earlier before flipping it over and stomping it to pieces. When Riley tries to calm me, he finds his ass on the floor with a Glock pointed between his eyes.

I'm breathing heavy as I debate whether or not I want to end him. I feel cheated by the old man's age and condition, and so fucking angry that I'll never know why. I expected it to be about Bella, which was bad enough, but my brother? I lost all sense of reason, and now I'll never know.

My arm drops with a sigh. "Get out of my fucking face."

Demetri comes over very carefully. "Edward, I need you to remove your button up and wash the blood off your skin."

I look at him blankly and do as he says. Moving as if I'm a robot, I rid myself of any blood-soaked items and go through the little door to the left down the hall. As I stare at my wild-eyed self in the mirror, I still have a taste for blood. Cleaning up as much as I can, I make my way back out to the main room.

Neither the body nor Riley are present, but I don't ask. Caius speaks instead. "Ready, Anthony?" he asks, reminding me who I am before we walk out the door.

With a nod, I follow him, trusting Demetri to handle the situation here and for him to come for these clothes as soon as he's back at the hotel. The ride is quiet. Even Caius knows better than to try and talk to me right now.

Just as he pulls up to the valet, he says, "Follow my lead."

He puts the car in park and rushes around to my door, helping me out. A bellhop rushes over. "Is everything okay? Are you in need of assistance?"

Caius shakes his head and rushes us past him. "Just a little too much wine."

He chuckles and keeps walking, straight into the open elevator. He pushes past the people already inside and leans me against the back wall. A lady in the front glances back, but Caius goes full-on Carl then.

He gives her an over exaggerated hand wave. "Oh, honey, where did you get that simply stunning dress? That color, I need to get my man a suit in the same shade." He runs his hand over my chest, and she looks back toward the front.

By the time we've made it to the top floor, I've gained more focus, but my blood is still thrumming in my veins as the monster paces his cage. He knows he fucked up, and we have no choice but to let it go.

As we walk down the hallway that leads to our suite, there's a man pressed against a woman almost directly across from our room. I roll my eyes, until I notice she's pushing against his chest. I can't hear what she's saying, but his voice is loud and clear.

"You're such a tease, baby," he mumbles as he pushes in and kisses her neck.

The woman struggles, but he refuses to back off. My feet start moving faster, and the closer I get, the more obvious it is that she's uncomfortable as hell. But then other things strike me with each new step I take.

Her dark, wavy hair.

Her purple toenails peeking from her sandals.

Her legs for motherfucking days.

By the time I reach them, I'm running, and I jump, tackling him to the floor. All my pent-up rage comes pouring out in the form of more fists. I even errantly wish the brass knuckles were still in my possession. Blood is spurting from his lips and nose, and both eyes are swelling shut.

"Edward!" Bella's yelling cuts through the anger, and I stop, realizing she's tugging on my shoulder. "Stop it. You're going to kill him."

I look to the pathetic fucker lying beneath me and shrug.

"Trying to force himself on any woman is bad, but trying to force himself on _my_ woman? That's a fucking death sentence."

* * *

 **I barely made it on time with this chapter, and I'm sorry. I've stretched myself thin with publishing and posting, but I promise to do my very best to keep this on the bi-weekly schedule. Thank you for sticking with me!**

 **See you in two weeks :)**


	19. Spidey Senses

**Fran is the fabulous beta, while Ninkita, 2browneyes and Sunshine are kind enough to pre-read for me. Thanks, ladies!**

* * *

 **Gore rating—2**

Bella crosses her arms, and I immediately miss her touch even if it was a restraining one. "That's still to be determined." She lifts a brow. "What are you even doing here?"

My mind is so fucked that it never registers where we are until her question. "Me?" I jump up and point to my chest, looking down the hall both ways before going back to her. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I'm on vacation. I told you I was leaving for a few days," she says as she starts digging through her purse.

My eyes narrow, my rage-clouded mind getting clearer every second. I snap my head toward Caius, who's leaned against our doorway just taking in the fucking show. "Get this piece of shit up." By the time I turn back to Bella, she's swiping her keycard into the door directly across the hall from Anthony and Carl's—of fucking course. "Wait just a fucking minute." I grab her elbow before she can sneak inside. "We need to talk about this," I say lowly, begging with my eyes not to shut me out.

Her gaze passes over my face and up to my slick-backed hair. "You're working," she says, sighing. "Why don't we just do this back in Chicago."

"Please, Bella. No," I say, feeling desperate. "I'm done. My work is done. I can't have you alone here. Not in this city."

Her eyes move past me, and I turn to see what has her attention. Caius has the sexual abuser propped against the far wall, awaiting my command. I fucking sigh. "What do you want me to do with him?" I ask, regretting the words before they've finished leaving my lips.

Her eyes come back to mine. "Just help him to the elevator and send him down." She takes a couple steps, but I grab her, stopping her from getting too close. "I'm sure he's learned his lesson," she says loudly to gain his attention. His swollen eyes stretch open to look at her. "Don't make me regret saving your life."

It's hard to ascertain his expression, but I'm pretty goddamn sure it isn't a thankful one. I step in front of her and stand to my full height. "I'd thank the lady if I were you."

He spits, and a pool of blood lands on the carpet beside my shoe. "I appreciate it more than she could ever know."

When I tense, unsure exactly what the fuck that's supposed to mean, Bella's hand lands on my forearm. "Edward, let it go." The monster screams at me to kill him, but he doesn't control me anymore, especially when it comes to Bella.

I relax and turn, nudging her toward her open door. Lowering my voice, I say, "Can we go inside and talk? There are things you need to know."

"I don't have the strength to say no, Edward," she says softly, her eyes on the floor.

I lift her chin, forcing her to look into Anthony's cold, blue eyes. "I promise, you won't regret it. I meant what I said before. It's all on me. I fucked this up, and I will fix it, but we need to talk about Miami. You can't be here. It's dangerous."

I can hear the sexual assaulter being shoved toward the elevator as Bella slips in and holds the door for me to enter behind her. The room is large and roomy, almost a mirror image of the one Caius and I share. Blowing out a breath, I lean against the door as I push it closed behind me.

My eyes are glued to her form as she sways across the room, some of her usual confidence missing. When she reaches the sofa, she tosses her purse on the coffee table and turns, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

I don't move at first, strangely feeling as unsure as her, but a reminder from the monster that we're in Miami is all it takes to propel me forward. I may be in unchartered territory when it comes to relationships, but when it comes to danger, I know my shit. And Bella being in Miami is dangerous—in more ways than one.

She's propped against the arm of the sofa, her head tilted and her arms tense as they anchor her to the piece of furniture. When I take the first step away from the wall, her eyes snap up, and she watches as I approach.

I stop about a foot away. "Let's just …" I blow out a heavy breath and take her hand, guiding her to sit. "Let's just talk about business right now, okay? I think that'll take away some of the awkwardness between us."

As she settles, she crosses her arms, but I realize it isn't in a defensive manner, more because she's unsure what to do with her hands. Before my fuck up, we were comfortable with each other, natural, and now we're … just not. Frustrated with myself, I go to tug at my hair but remember it's a fucking gelled mass, so instead, I prop my elbows on my knees, my eyes on the carpet beneath my shoes.

I almost jump out of my skin when I feel her hand settle on my back as she scoots to my side and leans in close "We're never going to get anywhere if we keep acting this way. Why do you think I can't be in Miami?"

"I don't think, Bella, I fucking know," I say, my voice harsher than I intend, but I can't control it, so I keep going. "Agent Swan talked to you? He told you the truth about our past?"

She rolls her eyes. "He did, and it was ridiculous. How could he hold that against you?"

Hearing her defend me causes a swell of appreciation to bloom in my chest, but the monster quickly reminds me that she's in danger. I shake my head. "Though I love hearing you defend me, that isn't what this is about … exactly. That man. The one who tried to kidnap you? He's the reason I came here."

"What?" she asks, leaning back to look me over more carefully. "You said business was done earlier. Is that what you meant? What did you do?" Her eyes narrow and she reaches in, her fingers going to the collar of my undershirt, tugging it down. "Is that … blood?"

I move away, brushing off her touch. "I didn't do enough, that's for fucking sure." I stand, the reminder of my failed mission sending agitation coursing through my veins. "I lost my temper," I say as I start to pace. "I killed him before he squeaked."

My feet move rapidly over the carpet as I wait for her response. This is a make or break for us. She knows I kill. It isn't a secret, but she's never been privy to a specific incident. That ends now, especially when it comes to this.

Our past.

I won't keep this situation from her. It can't be a coincidence that one-eye was in Miami, and he even said they knew I'd come. Somehow, it's all tied together, and I won't have her unaware of the danger that's lurking. Not when I don't know what it's about or if she's already been caught in the crosshairs because of her association with me.

"Edward," she says, her voice low but firm. "Sit. You're making me dizzy with all the back and forth."

I stop and bring my eyes up to hers. "I'm sorry. The whole thing has fucked with my head." I retake my seat, angling toward her and taking her hand. "Look, I don't know what's going to happen, but I've only made whatever's been building worse. We need to get the fuck out of this place."

"I don't understand," she says, titling her head. "Why would Emmett send me here if it was dangerous?"

Jesus Fucking Christ!

I purse my lips to hold in the expletives that are screeching inside my mind and breathe deeply through my nose before I try to speak calmly. "Emmett sent you here?" I ask, keeping my jaw clenched tightly, so no other words will escape.

Bella nods slowly, her brow furrowing. "When I mentioned leaving Chicago, he talked me into just taking a break. He said he was filling a workshop in Miami and could book me in with that group free of charge." She shrugs. "I don't like handouts, but when someone is offering me a free room in South Beach, who am I to say no?"

I rub my throbbing temples and speak carefully. "Whose name are you booked under?"

Bella's eyes fall to her lap. "I … I'm not sure. I met with a lady when I arrived, and she handed me the keycard and told me to leave it in the room when I decide my stay is over."

"Fuck!" I exclaim, standing to pace again. "Why would Emmett do this?" I ask myself, but I say it aloud.

Bella places herself before me, stopping my motion with her hand on my chest. "Isn't it obvious? He wanted us to work things out. That's the only reason I can think of that he'd put me right across the hall from you." She waves her hands toward my form. "Or whoever this is."

I pinch the bridge of my nose and tilt my head to the ceiling, my mind working through what she just said. And she's right. Emmett has been working behind the scenes to fix this shit between Bella and me since I fucked up, but he had to know that sending her to Miami was going to piss me off royally.

I sigh and move to the sofa, sitting down and patting the seat beside me. "Fuck it then. Let's do this. Let's make shit right. At least Emmett's death won't be in vain."

Bella takes the seat and shakes her head. "That's not funny."

I brush her cheek, the feel of her skin calming me even more. "It's not, and I won't kill him, but I want to. He's put you in terrible danger, and that's unacceptable. Thank fuck we're leaving soon."

"Leaving?" she repeats, her bitch brow lifting. "I don't recall saying anything of the sort."

"Bella, you're leaving if I have to force you on the plane." When she stiffens, preparing to argue, I place a finger over her lips. "This is not me trying to control you. This is me showing you that I care. I care a fucking lot, and we're in danger every second we sit here."

She grabs my hand and pulls my finger from over her lips. "How? Explain it to me."

"I don't have all the fucking answers. Hell, I don't have many," I say, scooting over to close some of the distance between our bodies. "But there's a war brewing between the Outfit and the syndicate here in Miami. Things have been building for a while, but they're about to boil over."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"I don't know that it does, but I get the feeling they know more than I thought they did before I came here," I say, my mind flashing to the strange remarks one-eye made before he died. "As soon as Demetri and Riley get back to the hotel, we'll be making arrangements to leave."

"Okay," she says with a nod. "I understand. I don't want to be mixed up in a mob war."

"Solare," I say softly, reaching up to cup her nape. "You're already mixed up in a mob war because you're mine. I mean, I'll give you all the fucking time in the world to accept it, to forgive me, but this right here"—I flick my fingers between us—"it's the first real thing I've ever felt, and I won't let it go easily."

"Tell me what happened," she says, tears gathering in her eyes. "Why did you avoid me after our night?"

I push our heads close so I can stare directly into her eyes. "Plain and simple. I freaked out. I had an amazing night with an amazing woman, only I thought it was a dream. When I realized the next morning that it was all real, I ran."

"Do you know how bad you hurt me?" she asks, a tear rolling down her cheek.

"At the time, no," I answer honestly. "But as I gained more clarity, I realized my mistake. A man like me isn't supposed to care about people, and I accepted that long ago, so it took me a little time to realize that I can. I can care about someone, and I do. I care about you. A whole fucking lot. I swear to you, I know it now, and I won't ever treat you like that again."

Her breaths are heavy as tears run freely now, but I keep us close, making sure she knows how serious I am. How serious this is. How much she truly means to me. Even if she isn't ready right now, I'll stay until she is, proving my dedication and protecting her from whatever fallout is coming.

Without warning, her lips press against mine, and her hands latch onto Anthony's gelled hair, anchoring us together as she swipes her tongue across my lips. I'm so fucking stunned that I almost don't react, but the monster perks up and uses his forces for good—for fucking once—urging me to take what she's offering.

I wrap my arms tightly around her torso and tug her against me as I open. Our tongues make contact, and this time, I acknowledge the flutter in my stomach that only she creates. I revel in it. It drives me to desperation, creating a never before felt sensation that spreads along my limbs.

When it becomes too much, I pull away softly but keep us close. "That was …" I trail off, not having words to describe the jumble of sensations that course through me.

"Beautiful," she supplies with a soft smile before becoming serious. "Don't _ever_ hurt me again."

"I'm not always a good man, Solare, but I promise I'll be as honest as I can moving forward," I say, palming her cheek. "I'm bossy as fuck, and I'll try my best to do it in a way that explains my reasons, but I need you to promise that when it comes to your safety, you'll trust me. Can you do that?"

"Trust has to be earned, Edward, and after all your promises to treat me right, I can't honestly say I'm ready to give mine to you right now." I open my mouth to interrupt, to probably make this reunion a little less happy, but she continues before I get the chance to say anything. " _But_ when it comes to my safety, I'll try."

I take a deep breath and nod. Not everything I hoped for, but It'll have to do—for the moment. It just means I'll have to work harder to re-earn what she so freely gave before. "I'll accept that … for now."

Instead of responding, she attacks me again. A woman who knows what she wants is so fucking sexy, and I welcome her with open arms. We make out like horny teenagers for a few minutes, until a heavy knock on the door makes us jump apart.

"Go pack your bags," I say, standing and pulling my Glock from my waist. "This is probably Demetri."

"What if it isn't?" she asks after taking a few steps toward her bedroom.

"All the more reason for you to go," I say, waving for her to keep going.

"Got it. Trust," she mumbles as she hurries away.

I wait until I hear the bedroom door close before I slowly approach the main door of the suite from a side angle. I pause to listen and hear nothing on the other side. With a cat-like movement, I have my eye on the peephole. My stance relaxes as soon as I eye my old friend on the other side.

Slipping the Glock back into my waistband, I pull open the door, ushering him quickly inside. "Plans have changed," I say, looking down the hallway before closing the door behind him. "We need to leave ASAP."

"As soon as Caius explained what happened, I hurried back, but why are we in a rush to leave?" he asks, studying me. "Has something else happened?"

"Something isn't right," I respond, shaking my head. "You heard that one-eyed fuck. He said some cryptic shit, and I can't take any chances, especially now."

"And where is the fair Bella?" he asks, his eyes scanning the suite in an attempt to locate her.

"Packing," I say abruptly. "Now get the jet ready and have Caius pack our stuff."

"What about those clothes, Edward?" he asks, turning back to me, his eyes on the blood from the confrontation in the hall. "They need to be disposed of."

"Fine," I grit, pulling the shirt over my head right there. "Give me a sec." I shove it into his unsuspecting arms and march to the bedroom. Bella looks up when I enter, but I just shake my head. "I need a robe, please."

"In the bathroom."

I give her a thankful smile and unfasten my pants. As soon as I'm in the bathroom, they fall to my feet, and I wrap the robe around me. Grabbing the pants and my loafers, I make my way back through the bedroom. "We're making preparations. Be sure your stuff is ready."

Back in the main room, I toss Demetri the items. "Now get rid of them. Don't come back here until we're ready to leave. Have Emmett pull some freaky mumbo jumbo, so it doesn't look like we all checked out at once. Make sure to bring me a change of clothes, and we'll be ready. Make it _soon_."

"Yes, Boss," he declares with a nod and makes his way swiftly out the door.

For the next ten minutes, I pace while Bella gets her things together. When she reappears in the main room, I pause. "Let me get those," I say gently, removing the suitcases from her hand. "Just have a seat." After her three cases are stacked by the door, I resume pacing.

"You're going to wear a hole in the carpet," she says from the sofa.

I pause and glance at her. "Probably, but this is the best I can do right now. My Spidey senses are tingling."

She stands, her eyes looking more alert. "Should I be concerned."

"Yes," I say swiftly, then regret it. "I mean, yeah, you should, but you should also know that I'll never let anyone hurt you. _Ever_."

"But what if it's not up to you, Edward? What if they hurt you first?"

"That's a valid concern, and the main reason we're getting the fuck out of this city. Soon," I say, moving to stand before her. "Leaving the hotel needs to be handled carefully, and I'm sure some things will confuse you, but I promise to explain everything once we're in the air." Her brows purse together, but I brush my thumb across the wrinkle to smooth it. "It's nothing big, just part of my cover."

Before we can get into it anymore, two firm raps echo from the door. I'm pretty sure it's Demetri, but I can't take any chances. Grabbing my gun, I move Bella over where she isn't in the line of fire and approach the door in the same careful manner as before.

When I'm sure it's my crew, I swing the door wide and return to start collecting Bella's bags. "How are we going to do this?" I ask, glancing at the three men who've stepped in behind me.

"Go put these on and we'll discuss it," Demetri says, shoving some clothes into my arms.

I chuckle and slip the jeans up my legs standing right in the middle of the fucking floor. Then I toss the robe aside and slip the T-shirt over my head, completing the look by sliding my feet into the pussy-ass loafers.

"That work for ya?" I ask, giving Demetri a smirk. "Now what's the deal?"

"Emmett's enacted an automatic check out for tomorrow morning for John and Steve over here," Caius says, tilting his head toward Demetri and Riley. "At separate times, even. And we're going to check out as we leave."

"Sounds good," I say, looking at Bella. "And nothing for you, right? Just leave your keycard here?"

"That's what Emmett told me before I came, but surely, he knows by now that we've run into each other?" she says, glancing to the others, specifically Caius since he's the one who answered my questions.

"Yeah, I told him. He said you'd know what to do," Caius replies, giving me a questioning glance. "Are we ready?"

"Yep," I say, tilting my head toward her third bag. "Grab that Riley."

We make our way to the elevator with Bella walking right in front of me, my eyes and ears on high alert. It's as if I'm expecting a gunman to charge around the corner any second. Every muscle is tense and ready to toss the bags and go on the offense. Even the monster is sitting quietly, tuned in to everything around us.

Caius, Bella and I get inside as soon as the elevator opens while Demetri and Riley wait for the next one, so we don't arrive in the lobby at the same time. I don't give a fuck what happens after we check out, but until then, our covers need to be maintained.

"Listen, Bella," I say, sitting down her cases and brushing her arm. "When we step off this elevator, I'm Anthony, and this is Carl, my lover." Her eyes widen and flick to Caius, but I keep going. "I want you to walk straight through the lobby and out to the parking lot on the side. We have untraceable cars parked there for situations just like this; walk slowly, casually, and we should be right behind you. Got it?"

She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth and holds in a smile. "Walk slowly to the parking lot," she says, barely holding in a laugh. "Got it."

Wanting nothing more than to wipe that look from her face, I press close, pushing her against the wall as I lean in. "You know this is just a persona, right?" I purr, my lips right up against her ear. "A way to hide my evil deeds." I close my teeth over her lobe and tug.

Her hands grip my neck and she yanks, pulling my lips to hers for a kiss way too indecent for Caius' eyes. But I don't have the strength to resist her. I've missed this so fucking much. She makes me lose all sense of reason, and it's only when Caius grabs my shoulder that I remember where we are.

I pull away just as the elevator doors open. "Shit!"

"Remember what I said," I mumble as I pass her on the way to the front desk.

As per routine, I lead Carl from the elevator with a gentle touch to his back. He roams around the lobby while I take care of business, and I even notice him keeping an eye on Bella as she exits, which makes me feel a little better. But not enough not to snap at the punk who takes his time checking out Anthony. By the time I turn to leave, my patience is non-existent, and I'm barely able to pretend anymore.

My whole body relaxes when I realize Riley and Demetri have already joined Bella in the parking lot. By the time Caius and I reach them, the bags are already loaded, aside from the two I'm carrying. I pass them to Riley, who stashes them in the back of their SUV.

"Let's get the fuck out of here," I say, my eyes scanning the dark night.

Riley and Demetri jump in one SUV while Caius, Bella and I get in the other. Normally, I fucking drive, but with Bella here, I release the reins. If anything goes bad, I need to be free to defend her.

With Bella under my arm and my eyes on the road ahead, I'm able to relax with every mile we put between the hotel and us. It's only when we reach a dark stretch of highway that I realize how wrong I am.

Car lights swiftly close in behind Demetri and Riley, and my pulse quickens. I push Bella onto the floor without a fucking thought and draw my gun, knowing Demetri has several powerful weapons at his own disposal. The sound of machine gun spray fills the silence, and I roll down my window.

"Step on it, Caius!" I order as I lean out the window, aiming for the car trying to pass the SUV behind us. The bullets ricochet off the windshield, sending a chill searing through me

An armored car.

The car floors it, and in a fake-out move, passes Riley. As it moves in closer, I take aim, looking for a weak spot. The passenger window inches down and two swollen eyes peer at me. The sexual assaulter is smirking as the armored car tries to get in front of us. With hatred boiling through my veins, and a dead shot, my bullet slips through the small crack, and his head explodes.

I dive back into the car as gunfire erupts from behind and beside us. By the time the sounds cease, the armored car has almost taken the lead. I lean out the window once again, and with the precision of a razor, I send two bullets flying. The car spins out of control, two tires exploding, as it careens down an embankment.

End over end, it flips, and the monster rejoices.

But it's too little too soon because up ahead, two more cars are blocking the roadway.

* * *

 **I had a couple people comment on the Anthony/Carl characteristics last chapter, and I apologize. I write in a way that drops pieces here and there and continues to build on plot, and I don't necessarily think about reminding you of past aspects—which maybe I should, especially with 2 week updates. If/when there's a next time, I'll note who's who before the chapter begins as a reminder.**

 **Sharp Left Turn releases Monday! Woot!**

 **So here's the deal. I'm almost halfway in the final book (FST). I'm going to pause Monday and write your next Operation chapter, making sure** _ **not**_ **to leave you with a cliffy! Then I won't write another O chapter until that book is off to be edited. Hopefully, that won't cause a delay here, after next chapter, but if it does I apologize in advance. When FST is done, I will have much more time to get Operation written, and we'll work on finishing it with weekly updates! Thank you for being patient.**

 **See you in two weeks :)**


	20. The Light

**The Fabulous Fran is my beta babe, and 2browneyes, Sunshine and Ninkita pre-read for me—when I get it to them on time :)**

 **Don't forget to checkout Twilight Fanfiction Pays It Forward's new blog! Each month it will feature fics in four categories... Rookie ... A new, first-time writer showcasing their first fic on our blog. Encore ... A new fic from a seasoned author giving us a sneak peek. Classic ... one from the vault, a time-tested oldie. And finally, an Overlooked fic that needs some love. So, stop by and check out the blog if you can; Pifficsofthemonth. blogspot. com. If you're an author with a new story coming up, or if you're a Rookie and need help, contact Frannie Walsh on FB or on the PIF FB page. Anyone interested in writing a summary on one of their favs, please feel free to send it in for our Classic section.**

* * *

 **Gore rating—6 (death and action more than gore)**

Everything around me comes into sharp focus as time seems to move in slow motion. Caius hits the brakes, allowing Riley to floor the gas and overtake us. Meanwhile, I stretch for the glove box and remove a Ruger .380 pistol. Once I'm back in my seat, I meet Bella's startled eyes.

"Take this," I say as I shove it into her hand. "Just point and squeeze if it comes down to it."

"What are you going to do?" she asks, grabbing my arm as I move back toward the window.

I pause and brush her cheek. "I'm going to kill these motherfuckers."

Her eyes are intense as she looks at me, but with a firm nod, she grips the gun properly and folds herself back into the tight space of the floorboard. By the time my window is down and I'm out far enough to gauge our current situation, the roadblock is just a quarter mile ahead.

We're situated directly behind Riley and Demetri as we speed toward the blockade, bullets spraying from Demetri's automatic weapon toward the armed men who're ducked behind the two cars. Headlights close in swiftly behind us, so I take aim and watch as my bullets ricochet off another armored vehicle. The moment I hear the screech of metal, I dive back inside as Caius steers us through the hole created by their SUV and turns the wheel sharply to avoid running into theirs as it careens out of control.

As soon as we slide to a stop, Caius and I both exit the vehicle, him moving toward Riley and Demetri, me crouching behind the fender and taking aim. A few men scramble around, and I pick them off one by one. By the time three have dropped, two more men are out of the car that was trailing us and firing in my direction.

I stay low behind the tire as bullets bounce off the asphalt near my feet. When there's a break in the spray, I hunker down low and peer under the SUV. Three men are moving in my direction. I zero my focus and squeeze the trigger, causing one man to slump to the ground, where I put another bullet between his fucking eyes.

An explosion rocks the air, and I duck as debris from the SUV Demetri and Riley were traveling in clatters to the asphalt. Smoke and burning metal fill the air, and I use it as my cover as I move from behind the SUV. My eyes scan for movement, and I notice it just as a body sails through the air, bringing us both to the ground. My shirt rips as my shoulder grates against the hard rock beneath me, but that isn't my only fucking problem.

A fist flies, cutting across the edge of my brow, rocking my head to the side. I shake it off and send my palm upward, shoving the fucker's nose as far into his forehead as I can. He reels from the blow, his head jerking back as he reaches to cover his face. I fit my hands between his arms and latch onto his throat, squeezing tightly.

As I sit up, I bring his face close to mine. " _Who. Sent. You_?"

His mouth moves, but I'm choking him too goddamn tightly to speak, so I release him just a fucking touch. "G-go to he—"

I clamp back down, intent on draining his fucking life, but footsteps against the asphalt reach my ears the same time as the words. "Let him go!" I smirk and with a quick twist, snap the motherfucker's neck before dropping him like road kill. "Get your hands up, you motherfucker! Get up!"

Holding up my hands slowly, I locate the source of the voice. A dark figure is a few feet away, and there's no mistaking the metal glinting in his hand. He approaches swiftly and delivers the butt of his gun against my temple, making me see stars for a brief second, but it doesn't affect my goddamn ears.

"Step away from him before I blow your fucking brains out," a cool feminine voice says, and my fucking cock twitches, because mother of fuck—it's Bella.

The man freezes and turns slowly toward her, but he doesn't have a fucking chance. By the time he's facing her, I've drawn a blade from my sock and stood. One swift slice from ear to ear keeps her from ever having to follow through on that threat.

"Edward," she says, rushing into my arms. "Are you okay?"

I hold her tight. "I'm fine, baby. Let's go check on the others."

She gasps, pulling back. "It blew up. We saw it."

"Shh," I soothe, brushing her cheek. "It was probably for a distraction, but I imagine there are injuries. Come on." I take her hand and keep her by my side as we kick debris out of the roadway. "Let's get to the SUV."

Hurrying back, I help her into the passenger side and jump in the driver's seat. "I'm going to swing around and shine the headlights on the ditch. Keep your eye out."

"Got it," she says, and her hands are shaking.

I reach over and touch her arm. "It's okay, baby. You did good. Now let's get the others and get the fuck out of here before their backup comes."

I swerve through the metal littered roadway and swing around just past the still-burning frame of the SUV, the headlights beaming toward the woods. One figure stands immediately while two more are on the ground, and I can't tell if they're even moving.

"Stay here," I say, giving Bella a stern look. "If anything else happens, I want you to get in this driver's seat and leave. Get the fuck away from here and back to Chicago."

"No," she says forcefully. "I won't leave you."

"Bella, I won't let you die for me!" I growl, my frustration growing.

"Then you better hurry and get them in the car." She crosses her arms and lifts her chin, giving me a defiant glare. I fucking sigh. She's just as fucking ornery as me, and that's not a very good combination.

I smack the wheel, frustrated with her stubborn ass, but also secretly pleased that she cares enough to stay. "I'll be right back."

As I scurry down the bank, Caius bends and helps one of the figures into a sitting position. The lights from the SUV are shining above their heads, but I'm fucking relieved when I recognize Demetri's familiar frame.

I slide to my knees in front of him. "Demetri, are you okay?" I notice a makeshift bandage wrapped around his head made from Caius' torn button up. The blood has already made a stain. "Can you stand? We've got to get the fuck out of here."

He waves me away. "Get Riley. I can make it."

After helping him to his feet, I leave it to Caius to walk him to the SUV while I move to an unconscious Riley. There's a piece of metal sticking from his leg, but Caius has already tied a tourniquet around his thigh. I check his pulse, and it's steady. Feeling around his head, I search for the injury that has him out cold. My fingers trace over a softball size lump at the base of his skull.

I sit on my haunches and sigh just as Caius makes it back. "You wanna just leave him and call it in? Let the ambulance help him?" he asks, his eyes steadily scanning the road for any sign of more trouble.

"Fuck no!" I snap, pissed that he'd even suggest it. "I don't fucking leave people behind. Grab his arms and let's get him in the SUV."

Riley isn't a small guy, and being completely out cold, it's not an easy job, but we finally make it to the vehicle where Caius climbs in and ends up with Riley's head and shoulders settled in his lap.

I smirk as I shut the door. Serves him fucking right.

The ride to the airport is quick and quiet with every cell in every part of my body on high fucking alert. We pull directly to the runway of the small, private airport, located on the outer edges of Miami, and a dark car is already awaiting our approach. The doors open and two men get out, eager to help facilitate our speedy fucking exit from this godforsaken city.

I slam the bullet-riddled SUV into park and cut the ignition, releasing a deep fucking breath. For the first time in the past couple of hours, I'm finally able to relax just the slightest degree. The goddamn plane is on the runway with the engine already humming.

One of the men approaches my window. I roll it down and deliver my orders. "We've got two injured. Help get them on the plane, and I want this car dumped in the Everglades when we're gone."

"Yes, sir," he replies, and my jaw clenches, but I ignore his insolence in favor of assuring Bella.

My eyes find hers, and they're filled with the closest thing to an apology I've ever felt. "I'm sorry you had to be a part of this. I … I never wanted anything like this to happen."

She reaches over and brushes her fingers over my tender brow. I wince, even though the feel of her skin against mine is more powerful than the pain. "I know that, Edward. Now, Emmett on the other hand …" She trails off with a tiny giggle, which burrows inside my chest and swells to the size of a fucking watermelon, stealing my breath for one long second.

"Don't fucking remind me," I say, resting my head against the seat and pinching the bridge of my nose. "Crazy, stupid, idiot, fucking nosy motherfucker."

"Hey." She tugs my hand from my face, prompting me to roll my head in her direction. "He meant well."

I sit up straight, intent on making sure she understands, and stretch my arm over, cupping her cheek. "Solare, if something had happened to you during this trip, though, I just …" I shake my head. "It would've been _unforgivable_."

Her soft expression tugs somewhere deep inside me, and it's in that moment when I realize I more than care. There's a large possibility that I may even love her on some foreign fucked up level, but it's not something I can explore deeper right now because, in the same second, her softness transforms into alarm.

Before I have time to fully fucking comprehend, though, her alarm has turned into action. She grips the pistol, which is still lying in her lap, and brings it up with a precision I recognize all too well, pulling the fucking trigger. The loud thunder of the shot echoes in the enclosed space, deafening me, as a bullet zips between me and the steering wheel and out through the open window.

I can't hear or even see why the fuck she did it, but I also couldn't care fucking less. She's in danger, and it's my job to protect her. I dive across the space separating us, crouching over her body, as I whip my eyes around looking for the threat.

Seeing nothing but Caius rushing down the stairs of the jet, gun in hand, I relax slightly. Bella's lips are moving, but all I hear is a beautiful hum, my ears still ringing from the blast.

I shake my head and push my fingers in my ears, trying to dig out the bells that are clouding my hearing. "Boss! Boss!" I finally make out a strong male voice and pivot my head toward Caius, who's leaning in the window.

"Yeah," I say, and judging by Bella's wince, I must've yelled it. I give her an apologetic shrug.

"Got one dead." He motions to the ground. "What the fuck happened? Are both of you okay?"

I nudge at my ears once more before turning to Bella, who's flattened against the seat with me all up in her personal space. " _Are_ you okay?" I ask, not even concerned with the dead motherfucker outside my door. I'm concerned with her, and the fact that she just killed someone. "Talk to me, solare."

She nods, her eyes falling to her lap, but I'm not having that bullshit. I grip her chin and bring it up, pushing my lips against hers in such an honest, appreciative way that it leaves even me startled by the sheer depth of the emotions flowing between our connection.

"Jesus fuck," I groan as I pull away and press my forehead roughly against hers. "What are you doing to me?" She licks her lips in a slow sensual motion, causing my eyes to fall closed just so I don't attack her again. "You're pushing your luck."

Her mouth moves to my ear, and she whispers, "Any other time I might want to push my luck, but I think we've done enough of that already." Her tongue snakes out and traces the rim of my lobe. "Take me home, Edward."

My hand goes to the door handle, but I don't miss the opportunity to give her the most intense stare I possess before pulling it open and shifting so she can exit. Once she's out, my eyes cut to Caius, who's standing beside the driver's side, looking out over the runway—anything to avoid being caught staring.

"Anything on this guy?" I push open the door after climbing back across the SUV and look around. "What about the other one?"

"Already dead on the plane," Caius says with a shrug. "No ID on either of them, but if I had to guess I'd say they were the backup plan."

I give him a nod. "Let's make it look like they killed each other and get the fuck in the air."

"Got it, Boss."

The set-up is easy enough. After wiping down our SUV, we place one dead guy behind the wheel and fill him full of bullet holes with the other guy's gun. Then we place Bella's pistol in his hand and fire it a few times so he'll have gunshot residue since the other guy already has a bullet from her gun in his temple.

Twenty minutes later, Caius and I are settling into our seats as the plane taxis down the runway. It isn't until we're clear from Miami airspace when I finally start to relax. Riley and Demetri are settled into two reclining seats at the back of this cabin with a stewardess tending to their needs. It's the best we can do until we make it back to Chicago.

I unbuckle with two things on my mind. First, I lean across the aisle where Caius is settled. "I want you to contact Emmett and have Doc waiting at the airport to take care of those two." I flick my eyes to my long-time friend and new bodyguard. "Don't tell him what happened, just that something did. I prefer the details to come from me."

Sitting back in my seat, I reach over to release Bella's buckle and take her hand. I pull her up with me and start toward the back of the plane. Pausing at my old friend's seat, I lean down and place my hand on his shoulder, prompting his eyes to open slightly.

"Doc will be waiting as soon as this bird lands," I say lowly. "Hang in there."

As I go to continue on my way, he reaches a hand up and grabs Bella's arm. "I'm sorry to see you involved in all this, but"—he pauses and pulls her closer—"I'm happy to see you two like this."

A beautiful smile forms across her lips as she leans in and whispers something too low for me to hear. When she stands, I give her a brow lift, but she only shakes her head and nudges me to continue my path.

When we reach the end of the narrow hallway, I pause and send a smirk in her direction before sliding the door into its pocket. The room is small but private, which is just what I need right now.

Me, Bella and nothing fucking else.

Heaving a grateful sigh, I turn and perch on the edge of the small double bed, pulling Bella to stand between my parted knees. I bend my forehead to rest against her chest, and her fingers hesitantly go to my stiff hair.

A small gasp escapes and they jump to my shoulder. "Oh my God, Edward, you're bleeding." Through the rip in my shirt, I can feel her softly stroking the scrapes that line my back.

I don't even look up, choosing to just shake my head. "It's nothing."

"Edward," she says as her fingers zero in on a particularly tender spot before stepping back and holding them out, forcing me to look. "Tiny rocks embedded in your skin isn't nothing. Is there a first aid kit somewhere? This wound needs cleaning."

"It might," I say, grabbing her wrist and bringing her back into my personal space. "But I know what _I_ need, and that's to fucking wrap my arms around you and just goddamn breathe for a minute." She opens her mouth to protest, but I silence her with a finger across her lips. "Please."

All her resistance fades instantly, and she goes even one step further. Pushing me back, she straddles my thighs and wraps her long, muscular legs around my midsection, not only letting me hold her but holding me, too.

I fucking close my eyes with a sigh as every possible inch of us lines up, front to front, with her legs and arms securing me tightly to her. I'm no goddamn fool, I prop my chin on her shoulder and return her embrace, my arms wrapping around in an attempt to absorb her very being.

For minutes we stay that way. Not a word is said, but it doesn't need to be. Miami turned out to be a clusterfuck of epic proportions in so many fucking ways, but in this one perfect, fucked up way, everything fell into place.

Her lips ghost my neck, and the whispery soft feeling travels through my chest and wraps around my heart. It's all new to me, feeling these things, but I recognize them for what they are—what they mean.

This is it.

 _She's_ it.

The other half of my murderous, black soul.

The light.

* * *

 **Okay, guys, a good place? We're going to hit pause right here. I have 6 chapters of FST to finish, and as soon as they're done, I'll be right back to devoting plenty time to Operation. My guess is that you'll probably wait 3 weeks for the next update, but we'll see. I'll definitely be seeing you before Christmas.**

 **Thank you to everyone who's supported Sharp Left Turn and especially those who have taken the time to read and review. As you know, reviews are everything to someone who puts their heart and soul out for the world to judge.**

 **See you as soon as I can :)**

 **P.S. And I promise to be back to review replies next chapter! I miss it so much!**


	21. Honesty

**Super special props to Frannie for getting this beta'd overnight AND after a long drive home from her short trip. Pre-readers … Surprise! Sorry, I was in a hurry.**

* * *

 **Gore rating—0**

When the wheels of our private jet hit the old, unused runway about twenty miles outside of Chicago, a huge gust of air leaves me. We're back on home turf. Bella is fucking safe, and my men can get the help they need. Fucking Riley hasn't woken yet, but it appears Demetri just needs a little TLC.

I nudge the sleeping woman beside me, hating to disturb her, but at the same time, dying to get the fuck off this tin coffin and back to the secure luxury of the penthouse. This trip was way too close of a call for my liking.

Her beautifully expressive dark eyes open, and she immediately realizes we're on the ground. "Are the medics here?"

I chuckle as I lean over to brush my lips across hers. "They better be," I say as I pull back from the soft, thankful pass. "I love that your first thought is about the others even after all you've been through. After everything you've seen, and it's all _because of me_."

"Edward," she says softly, cupping my cheek and brushing her thumb across my bottom lip. "I'll admit this wasn't in my plans when I went on vacation, but it _was_ all worth it. This is where we're supposed to be. Together. Hearing you admit you feel it, too, will probably go down as one of my top ten greatest moments ever." She purses her lips. "But that doesn't mean I'm letting Emmett off the hook just yet."

I groan. "Don't even mention that fucker right now. He's within killing distance, so it's best I forget he even exists for the moment."

"Boss," Caius call from down the aisle. "You wanna check out these bozos before we hand over our men? That Miami shit has me paranoid." He shoves his thumb toward the open door of the plane where two men are standing impatiently.

"Who arranged for them to be here?" I ask, gripping the handle of my piece.

"Only person I've spoken to is Emmett," Caius replies.

I relax and wave them onto the plane. I may be mad as hell at his ass right now, but I'm not concerned that anyone he sent is a setup. Emmett is super smart, but sometimes he gets zeroed in on one thing and can fail to see the bigger picture. In this instance, he was so focused on fixing shit between Bella and me that he inadvertently put her in danger to accomplish his goal. It's definitely not ideal, at-fucking-all, but it also wasn't intentional on his part.

I oversee the two medics as they check on my men. One of them helps Demetri to stand, and he and Caius get the old geezer off the plane. When the other medic returns, it's with some kind of board thing.

Caius enters a few seconds behind him. Tilting his head toward the plane entrance, he says, "We got men out there, too. I made two of 'em load into the ambulance with Demetri." He cuts his eyes to the two medics. "At this point, I can't trust a face I don't recognize."

"Smart man," I say, tapping my temple. "There a couple cars here, too?"

He nods. "Yes, Boss. With trusted me behind the wheel."

I bob my head a few times as I watch the men try to work out how to maneuver Riley's giant-ass frame onto this skinny-ass board. There's a brace on his neck, and he's still out cold. "Is he going to be okay?" I ask, my worry increasing with each moment he lies there unmoving.

One of the medics lifts his eyes to mine. "His breathing is normal, so that's a plus. We'll know more once we get him back to the facility."

"Facility?" I ask, because shouldn't he be going to a fucking hospital.

"Yes, sir," he replies, looking away from my hard gaze. "We have a special setup for instances such as this."

I don't know shit about a special setup, so I step closer, my tall frame towering over the puny fucker. "I'm going to assume since my bother sent you that you're exactly what my men need, but know this, if they don't walk out of your "special setup" of their own volition, I'll burn it to the ground."

"Yes, s-sir," he stutters as he strains to lift his end of the board holding Riley's bulky frame.

"Jesus fuck," I mumble. "Just move outta the fucking way. We'll get him." My hands fly around in frustration as I usher them up the aisle. "Come on, Caius. Grab the other end. These pussies couldn't lift a five-pound bag of flour."

Bella's giggle echoes up the aisle, bringing lightness with it that expands inside my chest. "Go easy on them, Edward. Not everyone can have your brute strength and good looks." Her eyes sparkle as they lift to my hair; the slicked-back clump of hardness atop my head. She is so fucking with me—and I goddamn love it.

I smirk. "You keep that up, and I might adopt this as my usual style."

"Not likely," she says with another light, airy giggle. "You hate it more than I do."

"How'd you get to be so fucking smart?"

She pokes my side. "I just know you. That's all."

The moment overwhelms me, and I'm caught in her stare. Her statement is more accurate than I ever wanted it to be. If I had my way, she'd have never seen the things she did in Miami. But there's no taking it back now. She knows me through and through, she knows the monster, and what's more, buried deep inside she has her own.

Caius fakes a loud cough, pulling my eyes away from Bella. "Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. Let's get him off this plane."

We spend the next ten minutes maneuvering Riley up the aisle and down the perilous stairs to finally reach the cracked asphalt of the old runway. Flashing lights greet me as I see a pair of ambulances off to the side and four dark SUVs. The two medics motion us toward the empty ambulance where we help transfer Riley to a gurney.

Once he's loaded, the medics are eager to be on their way. I halt them for a second and motion to Marcus and one of his crew. "Take an SUV and follow these fucks. I want an update as soon as we know something. Get a man in there with Riley, too."

"Got it, Boss," he replies and does as he's fucking told.

When the runway is empty of everything but the remaining SUVs, I call Caius over. "Look, I just wanted to commend you for your help with this trip. You did a good job and kept your cool."

"Thanks, Boss," he says, surprised by my candor.

"Don't get used to it," I snap, just so he knows not to take advantage or expect it in the future. "Have everyone ready. Bella and I will be there in a sec."

"Got it."

When he's moved away, I turn and hold out my hand. "Are you ready to go home?"

Bella takes it, but her brows are furrowed. "Home? After all this, you're taking me home?"

I yank, pulling her flush against me with one swift move. " _My_ home."

"Ohhhh," she says, and her mouth forms such an inviting visage that I can't stop myself from taking advantage.

Gripping her nape, I tilt her head and plunge my tongue into her unsuspecting mouth so fast she's frozen for a second, but it's only a fucking second as the fire between us explodes. Her hands fist my shirt as she frantically tries to get closer, to take more of me, to give more of herself. Her taste clutters my mind, causing me to forget where we are and where we've been. I lose all sense of self as I revel in her and the emotions I've kept banned from my life.

As the kiss deepens, I see it all. Us. A future I never thought possible. But as it comes to a blissful, sensuous end, I also question that future. Is it possible to have? Can I keep her safe with the life I lead? Will I become vulnerable with her by my side? Will she be the chink in my armor, the weak link?

But as we break apart and I stare into her kiss-dazed eyes, I know she won't. She'll give me a reason to come home at night, a reason to plan my every move to exact precision, a reason to ensure every mission is a success—a reason to live.

I take a deep breath, and with it, I exhale all my worries. There are still a lot of things I need to accept in order to make room in my life for a change this big, but the change is here. It's evident by the swell that blooms in my chest every time I gaze at her beautiful face. By the desperate need I feel to protect her from all harm. By the fact that as I gaze at her, sex isn't even on my mind.

In fact, a shimmer of fucking uncertainty creeps across my skin as I remember the last time. I shake off the funky vibe and take her hand. "Let's go home."

As we approach the SUVs, Aro is the only man stupid enough to open his fucking mouth. "Are we ready to roll, Boss?" he asks, stepping forward and spreading his arms. "Or are ya gonna make out some more."

My muscles tighten as I consider what I'm going to do to his disrespectful ass as soon as he's within reach, but a soft touch to my arm causes me to pause. "He's ballsy," Bella says with a cheeky wink. "I like it."

"He's fucking stupid, but it _is_ part of the package with him," I concede, brushing his insolent comment aside. Sometimes, he just plain doesn't know any better. "Aro," I bark, causing him to jump to attention. "Come meet Bella." I motion to the smiling woman at my side.

Too fucking stupid to be afraid, he saunters right up to her and makes a giant show of taking her free hand and placing a kiss on it. "My lady," he says, like the fucking dork that he is. "I am honored."

I snatch him up by the front of his shirt with my own free hand. "You fucking should be. She's the reason I'm not cutting out your tongue." I toss him back a couple feet and pass my glare over the soldiers gathered around to ensure we have a safe trip the rest of the way home.

I shrug. It's as good a time as any. "Men, I'd like you all to meet Bella." Their faces remain stoic, but I can see the question in a few of them—aside from Caius—he might actually be rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "You may never see her again, or you may see her often, but whatever the case for you personally, know this. She's important to me. _Very_ important, and she should be treated with respect and honor no matter where or how you encounter her. Should the need arise, I expect you to give your fucking life protecting hers." I meet each and every one of their eyes, absentmindedly thankful that James isn't among those gathered. I have other plans for him. "Got me?"

"Yes, Boss," they reply in unison.

I nod and start leading Bella toward the SUV Aro was standing beside earlier. "Good. Let's get rolling. I want one SUV behind and one ahead of us."

The trip is short in comparison to the long journey we've traveled up to this point. The past twenty-four hours feel like they lasted a goddamn week. Was it only yesterday when I lost my cool and beat an old, one-eyed man to death?

As sun's ray begin to shine over the horizon and the city lights come into view, Bella leans her head against my shoulder with a sigh. "You know, you should probably be more careful with your words. I might start to think you care." Her fingers are absentmindedly tracing the Polo emblem on my shirt, careful not to make eye contact.

I lift her chin, forcing said contact. "I do care, Bella. I'm not a man who flip-flops. Yeah, I got freaked out after that night, but up here"—I tap my temple—"it's all straight now. I know it, and I accept it, and I can admit it. You aren't going to wake up one morning and that be gone. That's not me. It's not who I am." I sigh, glancing out the windshield to gather my thoughts before focusing back on her. "Am I ready to admit my undying love?" I shrug. "No, I'm not, but I can't honesty tell you I don't feel it. I'm just not sure, but I promise as soon as I am, you'll know, too."

Bella blinks, her misty eyes reflecting the lights from the city around us. "That's all a girl ever wants, Edward. Honesty." Her eyes fall back to her fingers, which are still tracing the little emblem on my shirt. "I wouldn't have been upset if you'd just stayed and talked to me, but you didn't. You ran away, and I woke alone and unsure. It was a bitter pill that turned into rage as the days passed."

When she lifts her eyes back to mine, the swell inside my chest expands and explodes, causing the fine hairs on my body to stand at attention. Because it's there. I see it in her eyes. Her very essence is screaming it loud and clear.

She loves me.

"Bella," I whisper, dying to hear the word fall from her lips yet afraid of the same thing. "I …"

She shushes me with a finger across my lips. "I do love you, Edward, and I am sure of it, but I don't trust you. I can't right now. Those two go hand in hand for me. So no matter what I feel here"—she places her hand on her heart—"I have to know it here, too." She taps her temple. "Until then, I can't give you that part of myself."

I swallow the hurt and nod, knowing my actions are the cause of her hesitance, but also knowing I shouldn't expect things I can't give myself. "What a pair we are, huh?" I ask, attempting to make light of our situation.

She shrugs and wrinkles her nose. "We are a little pathetic, aren't we?"

I brush my hand along her hair. "Nope, just two incredibly thoughtful people who're trying to be honest with the person we may or may not love."

Her giggle fills my ears, and that goddamn swell collects back in the center of my chest. Yeah, I'm such a fucking pussy. "Gesù Cristo," I mumble, shaking my head.

"Hey." Bella pokes me in the rib cage. "Pretty sure I've warned you about that."

It takes me a second, but I freeze as her words hit me. My Italian. More specifically, me speaking Italian and what that does to her. The same creepy vibe from earlier races across my skin, making me want to bolt from any mention of the subject.

I chuckle, but it sounds uneasy to my own fucking ears. "Yeah, I remember."

I may have brushed it aside earlier, but as I force myself to delve deeper into the idea, I realize just the thought of sex with Bella is unsettling. My stomach does a little flip even as I stare at her gorgeous smiling face.

What the fuck?

"Boss, we're here," Aro says, snapping me from the unease of my thoughts.

I look around and recognize my garage, my heart giving a little thump when I see another man posted in Demetri's usual spot. "I can fucking see," I snap to cover for my little freak-out.

"Whoa, man, chill," Aro says, getting out the SUV and moving to open Bella's door.

As I get out behind her, I stand to my full height. "Haven't we discussed this man shit before?"

"Yes, Boss. Sorry, Boss. It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," I growl as I move past him and take Bella's hand. Even with all the weirdness going on inside my mind, the need to be near her is almost overwhelming.

I jab the elevator button harshly, still irked at Aro, until Bella grabs my abused finger and places a small kiss on the tip. Instead of finding the image hot, as I fucking should, my stomach does another goddamn flip—this one almost making me nauseous.

Playing that shit off like a pro, I take my hand back and toss it around her shoulder as I guide her through the open doors. After giving my thumbprint, I turn to face Bella—who's standing there in what I can only classify as a predatory stance. When my stomach flips this time, I use it as ammunition and back her against the wall like a fucking pro—which I am, of course—just not usually with this queasy feeling attached.

For the first time ever, I pray this elevator ride with Bella goes quickly. There's the obvious reason. I'm fucking more than ready to see my home again, but there's another, more sinister, reason. I'm not sure I can pretend I'd fuck her right here for very long.

I take my time as I position myself between her spread legs, discretely watching the digital numbers as they climb higher. My lips drop to her exposed neck and caress across her skin as my hands roam down to grip her hips tightly.

This isn't so bad.

She moans as she cranes her head to give me better access, but instead of going straight to my cock, it makes my fucking stomach roll. I pause and breathe deeply, centering myself with her scent, before continuing to her ear and teasing her lobe with my teeth.

The ding of the elevator is the most welcoming sound I've ever heard, and I can't stop myself from pulling away as soon as I hear it.

But she grabs my shirt before I can exit the elevator. "What's wrong?" Her brows are pursed, and the way she's looking at me makes it clear. This is a test of my honesty, and I better pass it with flying colors.

"It's complicated and fucked up," I admit, all the fight leaving me. I can't keep this from her, no matter how much I wish I could lock it away and pretend it isn't happening. I turn back and take her in my arms—nausea-free, I might add. "Look, let's go inside, and I'll cook us a nice breakfast. We can talk while we eat."

"Is it something I said?" she asks, and my heart breaks just a tiny bit.

I brush her hair from her face. "Not at all. You'll probably laugh and tell me to quit being a fucking pansy. I swear, I don't even know where it came from."

She studies me, and I must pass muster because she smiles. "We can do that."

"Good." I peck her lips and take her hand, leading her from the elevator. Only I stop dead in my tracks not two feet from the door. Because my fucking stupid brother with his stupid girlfriend have the nerve to be standing in my living room, him looking anxious as hell.

I thought I was the master of tense muscles, but I have nothing on the woman at my side. Her whole frame goes rigid as her eyes narrow on his lanky-ass frame with the precision of lasers.

Looks like Emmett's in more trouble than I realized.

* * *

 **Whew, guys, this felt like the longest three weeks of my life! So I need to talk your ear off ;) Since I started posting FF in Sept of 2014, this was the longest stretch I've ever went without posting something.**

 **Have you seen the Winterward Card Contest? I'm the super special secret keeper, and man, those entries are amazeballs! There's a group on FB you can search and join. 21 so far, and today is the last day for submissions! It's open to anyone who can find a pic and add some words. Come check them out!**

 **Today is Sharp Right Turn release day! For the occasion, I've made Sharp Left Turn free for today and tomorrow, while SRT is still only .99 for just a little longer. The final book will be out Jan 22. My author name is Faye Byrd.**

 **So, Operation is back on schedule and with a couple more posts, I hope to be able to move it to less than 2 weeks. Give me a little to get ahead on chapters.**

 **I hope everyone has a Holiday Season filled with family and love along with a bright and optimistic New Year!**

 **See you in two weeks :)**


	22. Ever Evolving

**Y'all should seriously thank Fran bunches. She's been super quick these last 2 chapters to make sure you get these. I promise, I've already opened chapter 23's doc and it will be on time! Sunshine and 2browneyes were able to take a peek at this one last night. Thanks ladies :)**

* * *

 **Gore rating—1**

Bella's tense fingers slowly untangle from mine, and she shifts, slinking across the room with the predatory nature of a tigress stalking her prey. I'm so fucking mesmerized by the fierceness of her movements that Emmett, or what she may do to him, doesn't even cross my mind—until, of course, Rose steps defiantly by his side.

Bella's cocks her head to the misguided woman. "This has nothing to do with you, Rose," she says as she jabs her finger at my brother. "This is all on him, and you can either step aside, or you can suffer the consequences."

A dark chuckle escapes as I start meandering in their direction.

Rose has the audacity to roll her eyes while Emmett hovers behind her, nervously shifting his glasses. "What makes you think _you_ have the power to make anyone suffer?"

I consider opening my mouth, but I'm too fucking curious to hear Bella's answer myself. I mean, I know what the fuck she should say, but the question is, will she? I position myself off to the side, where I have a clear view of the absolute anger sparking in my hellcat's eyes, and purposefully ignore the pleading expression on Emmett's face.

I almost feel smug instead of wrathful.

Bella takes one swift step closer to the tall, curvy blonde to stand nose to chin, yet her eyes are calculating as she studies Rose. "I think," she finally says and pauses to flick her eyes toward me, "you'd be a fool to underestimate my power. Emmett risked my life to achieve a goal, but achieve it he did."

My stupid brother actually fucking beams, all his insecurity fading at the drop of a goddamn hat. "Really?" he asks, his eyes wide and excited as he peers around Rose to get a better look at Bella.

"Really?" Bella mimics, throwing her hands up and acting all fake-happy. "Did you not fucking hear me, Emmett?" She shoulders past Rose, who huffs as she sits the fuck down, and marches straight to Emmett. Her goddamn pointer finger is jabbing him in the chest as soon as she's close enough. "You sent me into a war zone! I could've been killed! Did you think about that? Did you think about _anything_ aside from your selfish little fantasy?"

Emmett's beaming smile fades as her words work their way through his thick skull and settle into his oversized brain. He goes from a smile to a frown to wide, blue eyes as they jump frantically to mine.

I keep my stance casual, but my eyes are hard as I return his stare. I want him to see how fucking pissed I am, but I also want to let Bella do her thing. Take her rightful place as my girl and wield the fucking power that affords her on those who would put her life in danger.

Besides, he'll probably make it out unharmed—physically, at least—this way.

When his jaw drops to, no doubt, stutter an apology, I tilt my head toward Bella. It's her he should be groveling to. He catches my meaning easily enough and switches focus, dropping to his knees and throwing his arms around her midsection, blubbering apologies into her stomach.

Now, this is not at all what I fucking intended, as seeing another man, even my dork of a brother, with his arms around her is quite unsettling. The usual bubble in my chest constricts and is replaced with the fiery urge to break things. Namely arms, but Bella's befuddled expression as she looks to me for help tempers the flame—just slightly.

With an irritated growl, I go over and snatch his clingy self up and away from her, tossing him toward the sofa. "Jesus Fucking Christ, Emmet. Act like a goddamn man!"

He stumbles and lands haphazardly beside Rose, catching his glasses before they tumble to the floor. Rose huffs and cuts her narrowed eyes in my direction before checking Emmett over as if he's been broken beyond repair.

Tamping down the irritation, I face Bella, settling my own hands on the swell of her hips—they're the only ones that should ever be there—and studying her face. Her anger has dimmed, and confliction dominates her expression. And I get it. I feel exactly the same. No matter what Emmett did, I love him. I always fucking have.

I can count on one hand the people I've loved in my life. When I was younger, the list was a bit longer than now. My parents, Uncle Jasper and Aunt Alice all had spots, but number one was always my baby brother. Now, as an adult, the feelings I have for each of them have evolved. In Alice's case, they've come full circle. From the love for an aunt to the respect of an associate, and now, at the end of her life, a return to the simple love I had as a kid. Jasper and my father are men I respect and care for, but they're also expendable under the right circumstances. We all know this. It isn't a fucking secret, it's part of our reality. My relationship with my mother is complicated and distant, but I do care about her.

My one constant is, and has always been, Emmett … until now. As I study Bella's gorgeous face, which so clearly mirrors my own feelings, rage begins to simmer underneath the surface.

" _You could've lost this. Lost her. And it would've been all his fault,"_ the monster whispers, voicing his preference for the first time ever.

Bella.

He chooses Bella.

 _I_ fucking choose Bella.

My fingers grip tighter, and my jaw clenches as I fight to restrain the rage. Rapid, angry breaths are whispering through my nostrils, and I close my eyes, only to be bombarded with images of Bella—a different Bella, one who didn't make it back from Miami safely.

A softness presses against me, and her fucking magnificent scent fills my lungs as she whispers calming words in between soft kisses to my neck. "I'm here, Edward. I'm safe. Feel me. Put your arms around me. I'm alive."

The death grip I clench her in is enough to smother a normal person, but there's nothing normal about Bella Swan. She returns my embrace with enough goddamn ferociousness to remind me of the most important thing.

She's alive.

The monster recedes, taking with him all the rage. But he leaves a cold, calculating motherfucker behind. I pull away and narrow my eyes on Bella as a million scenarios race through my mind. But before I can decide on how best to finish this confrontation, Bella's swift mind has already chosen.

Her fingers only have to move a few inches to retrieve the Glock from my waistband, and with the flash of a devious smile, she has it aimed toward the duo on my couch.

"What the fuck, Bella?" Rose snaps, giving her an incredulous glare.

"Whoa," Emmett says, holding up his hands and pressing his body into the back of the couch—as if the fucking distance could save him. His scared baby blues flick to me when it's obvious Bella isn't going to bend. "You gonna just let her shoot me? Is that how it is now?"

I shrug casually, as if I'm only deciding what to have for breakfast. "Isn't this what you wanted, Emmett? For me to recognize my feelings for Bella?" I step forward, my arms encircling her waist from behind. "You got what you wanted, but surely you know what that means, right?"

He moves his eyes between us before his whole body slumps in defeat. "I'm sorry. I didn't know," he says, his voice breaking.

"Didn't know what, Emmett?" she asks, her voice as cool as a cucumber. "You didn't know Edward was in Miami?"

"You know I did," he answers, his eyes falling to his lap. "I just …" He sighs and meets her eyes. "This job was a simple one, and I was just hoping you'd run across each other and talk."

She holds the gun steady, but only for a few more seconds. "If this was simple, I'd hate to see complicated." Her shoulders slump and the gun falls to her side.

"What happened?" Emmett asks, but it isn't her he's talking to, it's me. His eyes are soft, and there's a touch of fear, but the overriding emotion is concern. "Is everyone okay?"

I nod once. "They will be." Cutting my eyes to Rose, I say, "But in present company, I'd rather not discuss the details."

Emmett's bushy brows furrow as he glances to his side, recognition dawning. "You think Rose is a mole?" he asks, his eyes flashing between Bella and me. "Bullshit!" He stands, fists balled at his sides. "I put my neck on the line so you two could get your shit together and this is the thanks I get? Vague details, accusations and a gun pointed my way. Fuck that and fuck you both." He reaches for Rose's hand, pulling her up beside him. "Call me when you're ready to talk."

As he goes to lead her away, the ice in Bella's voice stops them in their tracks. "Sit the fuck back down, Emmett."

He pauses, and when he turns, his eyes are narrowed on the barrel of the Glock. "Or what?"

In three long strides, I'm standing before him. "Or I'll sit you down."

He huffs, but the fight leaves him as quickly as it came. "I don't know what else you want me to say," he says as he sits. "I never expected there to be trouble."

Bella lowers the gun again and takes a seat on the coffee table in front of him. "Emmett, you were right about Edward and me, but I was almost killed. _We_ were almost killed."

"By who?" Rose asks anxiously, leaning forward.

Bella looks to me, her eyes questioning. Though she doesn't know everything, I've already given her the general rundown of the Miami debacle. The who's who and what my mission entailed, but none of that included the whole Rose mess.

I roll my fucking eyes and move to sit in a chair close by. "Who do you think, Rose?" I ask as I sit. "It was all a setup. Almost as though our every fucking move was being tracked."

Big fat tears collect in Rose's eyes as her hand comes up to cover her mouth. She starts shaking her head frantically and whispering, "No, this can't be happening. No. No."

Emmett leans forward and wraps her in his wiry embrace, making shushing noises as he tries to calm her. "I've got you, baby. Nothing's going to happen to you. We'll protect you."

She breaks from his hold and moves away, tears leaking down her cheeks. "How can you say that? If they can get to Edward then anybody's game. Oh my God, I have to get out of here."

"What? Why?" Bella asks, trying to calm an overly emotional Rose. "What am I missing?"

It's Emmett who speaks up. "Rose is the missing mob wife of Royce King."

"The Miami boss?" Bella's eyes widen as they look to me for confirmation. "You knew about this?"

"I did," I confirm, sending a pointed look toward a still sniffling Rose. "Which is why I've been cautious about speaking freely."

"But look at her, Edward." She waves a hand over the seemingly distraught woman. "She's a mess."

"Or she'd like us to think so," I respond, lifting a brow. "Someone sold me out in Miami, and the list of possibilities is a narrow one. I'd be a fucking fool to discount Rose's sneaky entrance into this family."

"I swear, Edward," the woman, herself, says, "I'd never betray this family. Not only do I love Emmett, but I need the protection you can provide. Going back there … it isn't an option for me. You can't imagine what I went through in those years as his wife."

I lean forward, my eyes piercing through her. "If you betray me, it'll be nothing compared to what I do to you. Got me?"

Her eyes don't even show shock as she nods her head. Rose knows me well enough to be assured I don't play games "I promise, Edward."

"Good," I say, standing to pace. "Now that we've worked through my brother's epic fuck up, it's time to get to work. Emmett, I need you to trace every aspect of our trip. I want to know every single person who had knowledge of our moves. Not only every move I made, but Bella's trip as well. They knew she was there and even possibly had a preemptive plan, but I barged in and ruined it."

"I'll get right on it, but I need details, bro," Emmett says, his baby blues begging. "How bad did I mess up?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose as I return to my chair, not wanting to discuss this but also understanding his need to hear the ramifications of his actions. "Do you know how I realized Bella was in Miami, Emmett?"

My voice has a dark edge as I ask the question, and he senses it. It's obvious from how he glances away as`he shakes his head. Shame and apology battle for dominance when he finally returns his eyes to mine.

Bella reaches over and grasps my hand, reminding me that she's here. My voice is robotic as I relay the details. It's the only way I can keep the monster at bay—to pretend that it happened to someone else. "As I returned to the hotel after losing my shit and beating one-eye to death before he could give me any answers, some fucking punk had a woman pushed against the wall right across from Carl and Anthony's door."

I pause, remembering the scene, and my jaw tightens. Emmett doesn't dare breathe a fucking word as I fight to push it all from my mind and return to the same robotic manner as before. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you who that woman was, or that the punk fucker is one of the men I killed on the road between the hotel and airport." I pause and meet his eyes with Anthony's hard, blue glare. "We left a trail of wrecked metal and dead bodies scattered across the outskirts of Miami."

"Jesus," Emmett mutters, removing his glasses and pushing his fingers into his eyes to quell the wetness that has gathered.

The room is dead silent as he comes to terms with the gravity of his actions. Even Rose's sniffles are barely detectable as we all acclimate to the reality that we're at war. Mob wars are messy and will only bring death and destruction, which is why diplomacy is built into our core principles, but we're not dealing with an honorable organization.

Emmett stands abruptly, pulling Rose up beside him. "I can't change what happened, but I _can_ help find the mole. I promise, I won't let you down, Edward." His jaw is tight, and his blue eyes are filled with determination.

It's a little too fucking late in my opinion, but he can't change the past. All he can do is work to make it right. I finally offer him a nod. "You do what you do, and keep me informed."

The determination dims, but then it sparks back even fiercer. "Expect results within a few hours."

But just as he turns to march Rose away, the elevator dings, signaling an arrival, and there's only one person it can be. All eyes focus on the entryway as the doors open to reveal not only my father but Jasper as well, except their faces don't reflect the fucking ire I expect.

No, they reflect grief.

My heart constricts inside my chest, as there's only one thing with the power to bring this much anguish to these two men.

Alice.

"What's the matter?" I say as I stand. "Is she okay?" My pleading eyes fall to Jasper, as his expression will tell me all I need to know.

He nods but ominously adds, "For now."

My heart, which feels like it's stopped in my chest, resumes beating, but it's a fast-pace thunder as I start prioritizing. "Okay," I say, blowing out a breath and looking to Emmett. "This can wait a couple hours. Family comes first."

"It's cool. I just visited yesterday," Emmett replies with a casual shrug, causing my insides to boil.

"What?" I snap, my hands balling into fists. "Are you telling me that you _knew_ Alice had gotten worse and you somehow forgot to tell me!" I take one swift step and smack him in the back of the head. "Goddamn, Emmett."

I move away and start pacing to keep myself from doing further physical harm. Jesus Fucking Christ! A man can only take so much idiocy from the smartest motherfucker he knows.

But as usual, the calming touch of Bella brings me back to what's fucking important here. She stands before me, and as her hands press against my chest, her eyes implore me. "I think I'm at a disadvantage here, but whatever's going on seems important. Being angry isn't going to help."

All my frustration with my brother seeps out and gives way to sadness. "You're right," I say, brushing a frazzled curl behind her ear. "Alice. She's my aunt, and she's … not doing very well."

"She's asking for you, Edward," Jasper interjects quietly, his eyes casting a glance toward Bella. "Both of you."

My brows rise, but I don't even know why I'm surprised. "Both of us?"

"Oh, for God sakes, Edward. Do you think she's an idiot?" Pop asks, apparently frustrated with me—as usual. "She was the best this organization has ever seen when it comes to information. Did you think a small thing like cancer would stop her from finding out exactly what she wants to know?" He waves his hand in the air, which holds a chewed-up cigar. "Besides, it's been written all over you for weeks. She probably smelled the pussy on you at your last visit."

My chest swells with rage, but a firm hand grips my jaw as dark eyes keep me from engaging. "It's not worth it, Edward. You need to shower, change and go see your aunt."

"Yes, Edward," Pop mimics in a girly voice. "Do as you're told and keep your smartass mouth shut." He finishes with a deranged cackle.

My eyes snap to him, and my body follows, brushing off Bella's attempt to stop me. "Is there a fucking problem here?" I stop before him and stand to my full height.

His eyes narrow, but when I don't back down, he deflates. "Not a problem, son. I had such high hopes for you."

"What the fuck does that even mean?" I snap, frustrated with his hot and cold attitude.

"Pussy makes a man soft," he says matter-of-factly. "I never thought I'd see the day my eldest would fall like the rest of us mere mortals." He waves toward Bella, who's standing a few feet behind us. "But there she stands. The woman with the power to take down the Outfit."

As I stare into his cold, lost eyes, I almost feel pity. "That's where you're wrong, Pop." I turn and motion for Bella to come stand under my arm. "With Bella beside me, the Outfit's power will become limitless. She'll give me reason, Boss. A reason to live a long and prosperous life."

His eyes scan slowly from me to her, and after a long pause, he nods. "If we make it through the war, that is."

I pull Bella even tighter into my side and take that first step toward the inevitable cliff that most mob bosses face. "We'll make it. Will you?"

* * *

 **Sorry for being late, but I somehow didn't figure the holiday (New Year's Day) into my writing plans, but I'm already onto the next one.**

 **See you in a couple weeks :)**


	23. My Bad

**Fran is the boss beta who cleans up these chapters, and 2browneyes, Sunshine and Ninkita read them and give me their thoughts. Thank, ladies xoxoxo**

* * *

 **Gore rating—0**

The Boss' eyes spark to life with a ferocity I haven't seen in a while, and he looks past me, pinning Jasper with an amused grin. "Did ya hear that? There might be hope for the future of this organization after all." He chuckles as he goes over to grasp his long-time friend's shoulder.

I turn, keeping Bella under my arm as I follow his movements. Pop is fucking unpredictable on his best day, and today isn't one, so I'm keeping my eyes plastered on his every fucking move.

"Look at the two of them," he says, shaking his head. "Charlie will be so disappointed, but I gotta say, this just may've been the missing link. Edward's been on the cusp of being ready for far too long, and now, all of a sudden, here he is, taking the bull by the horns and making threats I never thought he was ready to follow through on … until now."

"Not a threat, exactly," I respond, lifting a brow. "At this point, it was just a question, but a valid one, considering your nasty attitude today."

Pop nods absently and waves a hand toward us. "I'll give ya that, but I wanna see this same fire applied to every aspect of your life. Not just when you feel the need to defend the lovely Bella."

"I think you might be right, Boss," Jasper says before I can reply. But then, he blows out a tired breath. "But right now I can't even be excited about it. Alice is waiting."

The spark in the Boss' eyes dims, and he hangs his head. "You're right. She deserves more from us all." When he looks back up, he's the same agonized man who walked in the door earlier. "Get cleaned up, son. We'll finish this conversation later." He tosses his nasty cigar onto my fucking coffee table and starts for the elevator with Jasper trailing behind.

When the latter man goes to pass, he pauses and says, "You're the reason she's still fighting. I suspect after your visit, she won't be long for this world. So pay close attention, Edward." He stares at me for a beat longer before joining Pop in the elevator.

I stay on edge, unsure if Pop really is giving in so easily, until the doors close and the floors start counting down. Alone. Fucking finally. Emmett and Rose snuck out shortly after the tension started to rise between the Boss and me. He's seen it before, a thousand fucking times, but even I can feel the difference in this altercation.

The Boss will either accept my authority and respect it, or I'll take his.

And I'm not even unsettled by the thought.

Bella turns in my embrace, her dark eyes offering sympathy. "You go shower and visit your aunt, then come by when you're done."

My brows furrow. "Come by where?"

"My apartment," she responds, and I start shaking my head. "I realize my presence was requested, but I find that rather odd considering she doesn't even know me. Besides, I need to take a shower of my own."

"Have you lost your fucking mind?" I ask, and it comes out sharper than I intended, but Jesus fuck. What is she thinking? "First of all, you're definitely coming with me. While what Pop said was crude as fuck, he was right to an extent. Alice knew there was a woman on my last visit, and she asked me then to bring her next time. And secondly, if you think I'm letting you out of my sight after what went down in Miami, you've obviously not been paying attention."

"Look at me, Edward," she says, motioning to her disheveled self. "I'm a mess. At the very least, I need my own shower. I'll just go to my apartment and get cleaned up, and you can pick me up when you're done."

My eyes fall closed, and I breathe deeply several times before reopening them and trying again. "No." It's the only word I can get out in a seemingly normal way, but if the look on her face is any indication, I fucking failed miserably.

"No," she repeats incredulously before stepping back and crossing her arms. "I wasn't asking for permission."

"Of course you weren't," I say as I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is new to me, reasoning with someone, and I need be careful. All I'll do is drive her away if I'm too forceful, but that's the only way I know to be. With a sigh, I step closer, my hands finding her hips. "Look, Bella, I'm trying really hard here. I don't want to fight. I just want you with me. With me and safe. So, please, for all that's fucking holy, just wait while I shower and we'll go to your place. _Together_."

She steps closer, our chests touching. "We could always just share _your_ shower."

Two immediate sensations war within me, so I respond with only one of my truths—for now. I crinkle my nose. "I think that kind of defeats the purpose of a shower when you put back on the same dirty clothes." I add a shudder to show her just how fucking disgusting that thought is.

A gorgeous giggle slips out, and she reaches up to place a quick peck on my lips. "Edward Cullen, a mob boss who'll kill you for looking at him the wrong way, is a germaphobe. Why does this not surprise me?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say the food incident in my bed probably clued you in." I shrug, giving her an apologetic look.

I can see the moment it all clicks inside her pretty little head. "I had forgotten about that," she says, her eyes widening. Then she leans forward, whispering, "How close did I come to dying?"

Genuine laughter rumbles to life, and I throw my head back to keep from spewing it in her face. When I've calmed, I lean down, pressing my forehead against hers. "Even then, you were never in harm's way."

"Good," she responds quietly, almost shyly. "Now go get a shower. I'm eager to see Edward again."

"I'm eager to _be_ Edward again." I smile and hug her tight for one blissful second before stepping away and motioning around me. "Make yourself at home. I'll be quick. I promise."

Quick is a relative term because I do stand under the spray for at least fifteen minutes. I can't fucking help it. Not only am I covered in Anthony, but the grease and grime of burnt metal and the aroma of the dead hovers around me like a fog—at least in my head it does.

Getting dressed is quick, however, as picking what to wear is a no-brainer. I don a brand new, custom Dior suit, then I slip a knife into my sock and a pair of brass knuckles into the inside pocket of my blazer. Retrieving a Colt Python Revolver and tucking it into my waistband is the final step to becoming Edward Cullen again, and it feels fucking good. I may even smirk to myself in the mirror as I think about the fact that I have a woman waiting for me in the other room.

Someone who's a part of my life now.

It's strange, accepting her into my life so fucking easily, but I've learned the hard way just how much not having her around affects me. She's seen parts of me I never wanted to share, but for a man like me, it's the only way to have a real relationship—something I never wanted before.

I've always thought a man's actions make him who he is, and I still believe that. My life isn't pretty, the things I do, they make me a cruel motherfucker, but I can also be more than that. She can love me in spite of it, and I see that now.

I turn and exit my room, already knowing that bringing Bella into the family fold is just the first step to truly introducing her to the man she may learn to trust again—and in effect—love.

I smile as I catch her napping on the sofa, so fucking thankful that I got the cum-stained one replaced. "Bella," I say, and I caress the bare skin of her arm. "You've got to wake, solare, we have places to be."

Her eyes snap open, and she sits quickly, glancing around as she gets her bearings. We're both sleep-deprived and on edge after our ordeal that still hasn't ceased giving us blows. Once we've visited Alice, we're coming back here and camping out in my oversized, overly comfortable bed.

I move closer and smooth her sleep-ruffled hair, my hands remaining to cup her face. "That took longer than I thought. I'm sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for," she says, gripping my wrists. "It's so fucking good to see you again, Edward." She lifts and offers a quick peck to my lips before she shrugs off my hold and stands. "Shall we?"

"It'd be my pleasure." I grant her a smile as I offer my elbow—only slightly concerned that she hasn't showered and is hanging onto my clean suit. Anyone else's fingers would be snapped, so there _is_ progress.

As we enter the elevator, my mind switches gears pretty fucking quickly, and I start to work through ways to get Bella to pack her shit while we're at her apartment. Better yet, she can trash it all, and I can replace it with much nicer shit. I smirk to myself, pleased to have come up with such a fucking ingenious idea.

My phone buzzes from my pocket, and I hold my finger up as I remove my arm from Bella's. "Talk to me," I bark to Emmett in lieu of a hello.

"Still compiling," he says, "but I see you've entered the elevator, so I h—"

"Please tell me you're fucking joking," I growl, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"I can't. Not right now, anyway," Emmett says with a sigh. "You're in possible danger, and I'm going to personally monitor whatever I can."

"Fine," I snap. "What the fuck do you want?"

"When you make it to the garage, a team of men will be waiting for you to assign their positions. Each one has been heavily vetted, and I trust them with your life," he says, his voice as serious as it ever gets. "My suggestions for your two personal guards are Garrett, a security genius, and Seth, a weapons expert."

"Two?" I ask, because come the fuck on. One is bad enough. "I can take care of myself."

"What about Bella?" Emmett asks quietly, and he's right, but him asking that question still hits a sore spot.

"What the fuck about her? It's not like you give a goddamn!" I regret the words immediately, but it still felt good to say them.

Bella pinches my side and shakes her head, a disapproving frown marring her beautiful lips. "Stop it," she scolds.

"I won't keep apologizing, Edward," Emmett says after a beat. "All I can do is make up for it."

I sigh into the line. "I know, Emmett. Fuck! Anything else I need to know about these men?" I ask as the elevator slows near the basement floor.

"Nah," he responds. "You got this. I did check on Riley and Demetri, though. Demetri will be released tomorrow, and Riley's stable and on medications. They'll try to wake him in the morning."

The elevator opens, and my eyes fall to the six armed men standing about ten feet away. I assess them first with my eyes, and they narrow as one man is staring at the wrong one of us.

"I'll be in touch, Em," I say, my voice hard as I step in front of Bella, filling the stupid fuck's vision. I tap my chest. "Eyes here, motherfucker, or I'll be your worst goddamn nightmare."

His gaze jumps to my face, and I can smell the fear from over here. "Better yet, you're fired. Get the hell out of here." I motion toward the tunnel that leads to the street. When he doesn't move, my eyes narrow as I reach for my waistband. "Do I need to show you the other exit?"

He throws up his hands. "N-no, sir." He starts taking steps backward, afraid to take his eyes from me. When he gets to the opening of the tunnel, he turns tail and runs from sight.

I chuckle darkly as my glare passes over the rest of the motherfuckers standing there. I widen my arms. "Anyone else?"

Bella's fists the back of my jacket as she peeks around to see what the commotion is. I turn, facing her. "No worries," I say as I wrap my hands around to rest on her lower back. "Some people just aren't cut out to work for me."

"Maybe if you were nicer …" She trails off and gives me an impish grin.

"Give 'em an inch, they take a mile." I smirk as I take her hand and turn to face the rest of the men. "Now that the weak have been excused, I'm ready to move forward. Bella and I have somewhere to be." I motion to the woman at my side as I pass my hard gaze over the group, singling out two individuals. I point to each as I say their name. "Seth, Garrett, you will be my personal guards."

I'm easily able to identify each man from the pittance of information Emmett shared. Seth, the weaponry expert, is armed to the teeth in comparison to the other men, though they're all armed quite well. Garrett, in contrast, has his holster filled with technical gadgets that will serve me as well as Seth's grenades.

In unison, they give me a confident nod, and it's what I fucking expect to see from someone charged with dying in my place if necessary. Straight up goddamn confidence that they won't die.

I skim over the remaining men and finally point to the one on the end. "Your name?"

"Felix, sir."

I tap my chest. "You address me as Boss and take orders from no one aside from me, got it?" After receiving his nod, I pass my eyes along the rest of the group, so it's clear I'm speaking to every fucking one of them. "You'll be in charge of my babies." I wave my hand toward my row of vehicles and then to Demetri's post. "That's where you'll do your job."

"Yes, Boss," he replies and immediately moves toward his position.

It impresses me. Slightly.

"As for the rest of you, I'll leave it to you to decide who's positioned where, but I want Cullen Place and Grizzly HQ protected," I say, already tugging Bella with me as I make my way toward the Hummer. Surprisingly, Garrett rushes ahead and has the door held open just as we arrive. I smirk as I help Bella inside. "Eager to please, are we?"

"Passionate about my job, Boss," he says without an ounce of emotion. "Your life is now in my hands, and I don't take that lightly."

I pause before climbing inside and lean closer to him. "While I do value my life, if ever it comes down to her or me, choose her. Got me?" I draw back and stare into his eyes while he considers the command.

Only a few beats later, his reply comes with a firm nod. "Yes, Boss."

And I believe him.

The ride to Bella's apartment is quick and quiet with only Garrett accompanying us inside. At her door, he pauses and pulls some little box from his holster. After about a minute, he looks to us. "All clear, Boss."

Huh.

"What exactly did you check for?" I ask, curious.

"Heat signatures, Boss."

Bella moves to unlock her door, but I pause before entering. "I do expect you to call me Boss, but not every single time we interact."

By the time I'm inside, Bella is already moving down the hallway, but I pause in the entrance and take in the utter chaos of her home—aside from the subpar structure itself. Clothes are strewn over the back of the sofa and magazines litter the coffee table. The counters are cracked, and some of her cabinets are missing their trim, but at least the fucking dishes are washed.

I fight to keep the grimace internalized and blow out a determined breath as I follow the hall to where Bella disappeared. This room is even fucking worse, but as I catch sight of the woman inside it, it all fades the hell away.

I only see her.

Her beautiful, flustered self as she tosses more clothes from the closet to the bed. I smile as I move behind her, my hands landing on her hips, my lips at her ear. "Go shower. I'll pack you a suitcase and pick you something to wear."

She freezes and turns in my arms. "Pack my suitcase?"

As nonchalantly as possible, I say, "I was hoping you'd spend at least a few days at the penthouse." My face stays neutral while inside I'm silently begging for her to be agreeable. A confrontation is not what I need right now. Not over this. She'll only lose.

Her dark eyes study me, wanting me to fuck up, but I don't. I remain cool and casual. Finally, she smiles. "Sure. We still have a few things to discuss anyway."

A ripple of weirdness flutters in my abdomen, but I push it aside and return her smile. "We do, but first, Alice. Grab your things and head to the shower. I promise I've got this. I'll hang your dress on the bathroom door."

"Thank you, Edward." With a grateful peck, she grabs her cheap-ass underwear and heads out the bedroom door.

The first thing I do after she's gone is scan the room for any signs of an acceptable dress. I almost sigh in relief when I see a frilly, floral print poking out from underneath the bed. I snag it up and hold it out for inspection. Though the material is cheap and not as soft as I'd like, it's not wrinkled. I warily bring it to my nose, and surprisingly as fuck, it isn't so bad. Grabbing an empty hanger for the dress and pair of black heels from the closet, I move to the bathroom door.

When I return to her room, I grab the largest suitcase in her closet and open it on the bed. I start collecting pictures, keepsakes and anything—aside from clothes—that looks important in her room. When I'm done there, I move out into the living room and do the same. By the time I have the suitcase filled, everything that matters to her is in the case—even some shit I should've trashed.

I secure it tightly and hand it out to Garrett. "Take this to the Hummer and wait there. We'll be down soon."

I sit patiently on the sofa as the blow dryer hums from the bathroom. When the door opens, I stand and turn. Bella can make anything look fucking beautiful, even a cheap, shitty dress. A smile I'm not even in control of curves my lips.

Holding out my hands, I beckon her to me. "Fucking gorgeous as always."

She brushes her hands over the dress. "Are you sure this is okay?"

I fight the urge to be truthful and instead lie through my goddamn teeth. "It's a lovely dress. Perfect for the occasion, though I'm not sure this bag matches very well."

She giggles. "That's my makeup bag. I just wanted to add it to my suitcase."

"Oh, yeah, sorry," I say, acting apologetic, and I am—sort of. "I've already sent it down with Garrett. Just bring it along." I hold out my elbow, hoping to get her out of here before she realizes her shit is missing. "Shall we?"

"Why thank you, sir," she says, and her smile is one I'm locking away to remember later.

Because she'll definitely lose it when she realizes what the fuck I've done.

* * *

 **Sorry for being a day late, the chapter was ready, but a whopping inch snow storm brought Middle Georgia to a screeching halt which left the hubs at my side all day. If you know me, you know that when the cat is away is when this little mouse plays. Another side effect of that is replies. I have several Final Sharp Turn things to do today as the deadline for loading the final copy is 6pm, so I def don't have time, but yayyy for the series being complete as of Monday!**

 **Last note, Operation, I know I keep promising to bring these weekly, but I swear I have never written a more difficult character than this Edward. Sometimes I can write a chapter in 2 days, sometimes it takes me 10 (like this one did, and got nowhere near what I thought was going to be in here), so we're just gonna go with when I get them written and beta'd. No longer than 2 weeks, as they've been, but if it comes faster, I'll pop in and surprise you sooner. K?**

 **See ya next time :)**


	24. A Loss Yet to Happen

**Super thanks to my beta babe, Fran! A shout-out to my prereaders, Ninkita, Sunshine and 2browneyes. Thanks all you wonderful ladies XOXO**

* * *

 **Gore rating—0 (tears? IDK, maybe)**

As we pull into the drive at Alice and Jasper's house, my eyes roll behind my lids, and I heave a fucking sigh. My goddamn mother's car is in the drive parked right alongside my father's. It makes me fucking cringe.

So not what the fuck I need.

As Seth cuts the ignition, I say, "Garrett, wave that thingamabob and tell me where those fuckers are located. There's a couple of people here I'd like to avoid."

Bella's large, dark eyes spear me with concern. "Who's here?"

"Two bodies on the back part of the lower level, Boss, and another two upstairs, almost directly above them," he says, interrupting the conversation between Bella and me.

My jaw clenches as I flick my eyes from hers to his. "You see the two of us talking?" I motion between my girl and me. " _Never_ interrupt us again."

"Sorry, Boss, I didn't realize …" He trails off as my eyes narrow and turns back toward the front, holding his little gadget up again.

"Now," I say, turning back to Bella and tilting my head toward the two extra cars in the drive. "The flashy Ferrari belongs to Pop; he likes to pretend he's younger than he really is." I pause and sigh. "And the fucking Tesla belongs to my mother; she likes to pretend she gives a fuck about the environment."

"Oh," Bella says, her eyes not leaving my face as one side of her perfect mouth lifts into a half-smile. "And what do you like to pretend with all your fancy rides?"

"Depends," I say, giving her a smirk. "Some days I pretend I'm the fastest motherfucker on the planet, others I pretend I'm the richest motherfucker in the world." I lean close, so fucking close my lips are skimming across hers as I speak. "But lately, it pretty much feels like I'm just the luckiest motherfucker to ever exist."

I don't allow her to respond as I push my lips against hers and revel in that very same feeling I just spoke of. She makes me feel alive, but it's more than that. Being around her makes me feel like life is _worth_ living. Like there's something aside from the daily death and destruction I reap everywhere I go. Like I want to fucking live for reasons aside from my own selfish ones.

She just makes me feel, and it's fucking glorious.

It isn't until her hands find their way to my waist, to my buckle to be more precise, when I realize I've let things get too far. Toss aside the fact that we have an audience in the front seats—I dare them motherfuckers to look—and the fact we're sitting in my dying aunt's driveway, no, none of that is what draws us to a screeching halt.

It's the sudden lurch in my stomach that stops me cold. The not-so-subtle reminder that I'm fucked in the head, but on the plus side, this kiss went way farther than any other since this little _condition_ made itself known. Maybe I'm already improving.

"Solare," I say, my voice strained as I fight the sudden unease. "I …" I blow out a breath. "We need to talk … soon, but first, let's visit my aunt."

Bella, who was panting as she awaited my words, gasps and starts looking around frantically—realizing where we are, no doubt. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. What the fuck is wrong with me?" She swiftly glances between me and the two men in front of us who're pretending we don't even exist.

"Shhh," I say, cupping her cheek. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with you. You're perfect. We got carried away, that's all, and it's allowed. We can do what the fuck we want, where the fuck we want to do it. Got me?" I brush my thumb across her kiss-plumped lower lip as she nods. "Good. Now let's do this." I plant a swift peck on her pretty mouth and withdraw, pushing the door behind me open as I go. In no time at all, I'm around to her side and holding out my hand to assist her from the car. "You ready for this?" I ask as I hook her fingers around my elbow.

She tilts her chin upward and cuts her determined eyes to mine. "Yes," she says confidently. "I somehow feel empowered with you by my side; like nothing can hurt me."

I tilt my head at her. "As you should."

Her breathtaking giggle floats across the air as I lead us up the steps and to the front door. Instead of ringing the bell, which will alert the entire fucking household of our arrival, I push open the door and poke my head inside, checking for the all clear. Seeing no one, I take Bella's hand and pull her inside where we rapidly move up the staircase.

Once we reach the top, I stop and glance behind me to make sure we weren't spotted. Seeing no one, I pull Bella to stand before me. "Sorry about that, but I think we're safe," I whisper.

"Why are we whispering?" she asks, a cute little pucker forming between her brows.

I glance at the stairway again. "My mother is here, and I'm hoping we can avoid her."

"Seriously?" Bella tilts her head, giving me a wide-eyed stare. "Is there a particular reason we don't want to see her?"

I sigh. "We have a complicated relationship, and I'm not in the mood to hear her lecturing me." I cup her jaw and look between her eyes. "Because if she sees you, this, she's sure to start."

"Start …" she prompts, leaving her question hanging in the air between us.

I look past her to the man standing in an open doorway further down the hall. He's quietly watching our every move. With a barely perceptible tilt of his head, he moves back into the room, and my eyes fall back to Bella. "If we make it out of here unscathed, I'll give you the lowdown. If she does catch us, just ignore every fucking word that comes from her mouth."

She twines her arms around my shoulder and lifts on her tiptoes so her lips can reach mine. After an all-too-brief kiss, she whispers, "She can't scare me, Edward. No one can."

I pull her tight against me and, after a short but needed moment, release her with a sigh. "Alice is waiting."

She nods and takes my offered hand. With slow, even steps, I lead us toward my dying aunt. I hope like hell that the prospect of meeting Bella will be enough to overcome Alice's pain, but as I step through the doorway, an all-too-familiar scent greets me.

Death.

The woman before me is only a wisp of the woman I've known my entire life. She's propped against her pillows, her eyes closed, her dark hair thin and lifeless, her cheeks gaunt. Her loud breaths are the only sound in the room.

A quiet gasp comes from beside me, and I turn my attention to Bella. Her eyes are moist, the visage of the frail woman before us affecting her deeply. I throw my arm across her shoulder and pull her into my side, offering a kiss to her temple as a feeble attempt to soothe her.

"You brought her," Alice says, her voice stronger than I expected.

I tilt Bella's chin upward and wipe the errant tears from her cheeks. "Someone is anxious to meet you," I say, loudly enough for Alice to hear. "What do ya say?"

She nods and offers me a faint smile. "I'd be honored."

With a deep breath, I return Bella's attempt at a smile and take her hand, gently guiding her across the room to sit in one of two chairs that are already awaiting us. Jasper is seated in a wingback chair in the corner, silent and ever watchful.

"Alice," I say softly as I take the empty chair. "I'm sorry we took so long."

Her once shiny brown eyes open, and they're empty, devoid of life. "I knew you'd come when you could." She lifts her bony hand, beckoning toward Bella. "Come. Let me see you."

Bella glances at me briefly before slipping from her chair and shuffling across the carpet on her knees until she's close enough to take Alice's outstretched hand. The whole scene rips me to fucking shreds, ashamed I didn't get my head out of my ass and make my aunt happy weeks ago.

"Alice, this is Bella. She's …" I pause, searching for the perfect fucking word to describe her. "Everything."

A spark ignites in Alice's eyes as she glances at me and back to Bella, looking her over with renewed energy. "She's quite the beauty, son."

"She's fucking gorgeous," I say, smiling like a fucking lovesick puppy seeking approval.

"She's right here," Bella says, waving her free hand over herself.

Alice lets out a giggle that has her gripping her stomach with a grimace after only a few seconds, but she breathes through it and cuts her eyes my way. "And a spitfire, too." They soften as they go back to Bella. "You couldn't be more perfect for him, dear."

Bella fights a smile as she glances my way. "I think it works both ways."

"Of course it does," Alice responds, trying to sit up straighter. "A relationship is a partnership. It doesn't matter how much love is there, if you can't learn to compromise, it won't work." Her eyes cut to mine. "But you're already realizing this I take it?"

I chuckle and shake my head. "It's a work in progress, but if you're asking me if I'm trying, the answer is yes." I lean forward and brush Bella's long, dark curls over her shoulder so I can see her face. "I realize I need her in my life, and the only way to keep her is to curb some of my less desirable traits."

"I don't want you to not be who you are," Bella says, her dark eyes serious as she focuses on me. "I just need you to understand that I run my life. If you need to curse, rant, rave, do it, I don't mind. But in the end, you have to trust me to make my own decisions."

"As I said … compromise," Alice says, interrupting as I'm reminded exactly how I've already fucked up by moving Bella in without asking. "It's a powerful tool, and those who master it are sure to live long happy lives." She stretches her hand over, willing me to take it. "Together. Long, happy lives _together_."

I get down beside Bella and take Alice's fragile hand between my larger ones, afraid it'll snap in two if I handle her too roughly, dropping my eyes to the floor. "I've already fucked up," I mumble, the pristine white carpet beneath my knees suddenly fascinating.

"I think I get to be the judge of that." Bella's voice is soft as she reaches over and lifts my chin. "And so far, I'd say you've done all right. I am alive, after all."

Looking into her soft, caring eyes and knowing she has no idea the depth of my deception is painful, but the thought of her getting pissed and leaving me over it is even worse, so I do what needs to be done.

I softly place Alice's hand back on the bed, getting the stink-eye as I do so, and turn to Bella, cupping her nape. "You know who I am … in a sense, but there are parts of me you've yet to discover. I won't fucking hide them from you. I can't because then it'd make us a lie. I just need you to be patient. Let's wipe the slate clean and start fresh tomorrow. I'll tell you anything you want to know tonight. You ask, I answer."

"Anything," she repeats, and it's not a question. I can see inside her mind as the word tumbles around. I can also see her acceptance before she gives me her fucking answer. "Deal."

She throws her arms around my neck, and I pull her close, pushing aside the fact that I just tricked her into saying words I'll have to throw back at her later when she's slinging all her shit at me. It was a devious move, and I can live with that if it keeps her with me.

Alice catches my gaze over Bella's shoulder, and instead of her eyes burning me where I sit, she's actually smiling softly. "Ahhh, young love," she says wistfully, her eyes seeking her own lifelong partner.

Her assessment ought to freak me the fuck out, but it doesn't. Not at all. I've almost completely accepted the truth, yet a tiny doubt still lingers on the fringes of my fucked up mind. A small voice that, though it's already embraced the idea of Bella, still whispers about all the ways it could go wrong.

Jasper offers Alice a wink as he quietly moves to her side and takes her hand, bringing it to his lips. "If only Bella were as lucky as you, my dear," he says with a smirk aimed my way. "Something tells me Edward isn't quite as ready to accept love as I was. One glance and I knew from that moment on I'd be by your side."

"And you have been," she says, looking at him with their many years of love on full display. "But I'm not worried about Edward. Not anymore. Love changes a man. It makes him stronger, and I can already see it happening. My final wish has been granted. There's nothing to keep me here anymore."

After our embrace, Bella had pulled back to cuddle into my side, both of us still on our fucking knees at Alice's bedside. Now, hearing Alice's heart-breaking confession, silent tears are streaming down her cheeks, and she buries her face in my shoulder as sobs rack her frame.

Jasper brushes aside a lifeless lock of dark, dull hair and presses the softest of kisses to her paper-thin lips. "I know, beautiful, you can rest now."

A surge of rage overcomes me, and I jump to a standing position, almost knocking Bella on her ass, but I can't even worry about that right now. "What the fuck, Jasper?" I demand, my voice thundering through the room. "How can you let her go so … so … so fucking easily? She needs to fucking fight!"

Alice sighs and her eyes fall closed, but it's Jasper who answers the accusation with mind-numbing reality. "I can let her go because I love her more than I love myself, Edward," he says, his voice hard and direct. "Do you think I don't want my wife to live? Because I fucking do, but she's in pain. Terrible pain, and I'd never wish for her to endure it simply to pacify my selfish needs."

His words cut me into a million tiny pieces, and I drop to Alice's side, fitting myself on the small space along the edge of the bed. "You can't leave. Please," I beg, tears welling in my eyes. "I'm not ready."

I bow my head as I'm fucking overwhelmed in a way unlike any I've ever felt. Warm, wet tears track their way down my cheeks, and my shoulders shake under the strain of a loss that is yet to happen. Two hands rest on my shoulders as a soft voice murmurs in my ear, assuring me that I'll make it through this. Assuring me that she'll be with me every step of the way.

"Shhh," Alice soothes, placing her hand on my knee. "Edward, you knew this was coming, and look at you. It's made me so happy to see this development." Her eyes move to Bella and back to me so there's no mistaking what she means. "You have all the tools to become exactly what you were meant to be."

I dry my unusually wet cheeks and scoot even closer to her, leaning down so she can see how much this pains me. "I understand. I don't like it, but I love you and if you're ready, then so am I." Bending, I press my lips to her forehead, and when I pull back, she's smiling peacefully.

"Jasper, honey, do you think you and Bella could step outside for a minute? I'd like to speak with Edward privately," she says, posing it as a question even though she knows he'd never say no.

"Alice," Jasper says, the two of them having a conversation with only their eyes. "I don't think—"

"I _do_ ," she stresses sternly, her eyes falling closed and her once-smiling face pinching into a grimace.

Jasper leaves his spot beside her and opens the nightstand on his side of the bed. "Will you at least let me give you some morphine first? I hate seeing you in pain, and you should have just enough time before it kicks in."

She lets out a small huff and shakes her head. "As soon as I'm done. Promise."

He bows his head for a brief second before tossing the syringe back into the drawer and tilting his head toward the door, his disappointed eyes on Bella. "Shall we?"

"Of course," she says, moving to stand beside me and address Alice herself. "It has been an honor to meet someone who so obviously is very important to Edward. I'm only sorry it didn't happen sooner."

Alice takes a deep breath and lets out a pain-filled, shuddering breath. "It was perfect timing, dear, and you're perfect for him. He's going to drive you absolutely bonkers, but please, stay, fight." Her eyes trail to Jasper. "Perfect doesn't mean all happy all the time. Pick your battles. Insist on winning but also know when to give in."

Bella leans down to kiss Alice on the cheek. "You sound like you know from experience."

Alice musters up a snort as my girl starts to back away. "Oh, my experience is light compared to what you'll face, but I think you'll end up just as happy as I am. This one needs a woman who can stand toe to toe with him, and I have no doubts about you at all."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Bella says, glancing at me with teary, heartbroken eyes. "I'll let you two talk. You can find me in the hall with Jasper." She's barely holding in her sorrow, but she still finds the strength to offer me comfort as she walks away.

A simple squeeze to my shoulder means nothing in the grand scheme, but it goes a long fucking way where I'm concerned. She knows this goodbye is tearing me to shreds, and she's doing everything she can to remind me she's here.

At the sound of the door closing, Alice's eyes pop back open from where they had drifted closed. "Have you told her?"

"Not exactly," I respond, taking her hand and brushing my thumb over her knuckles. "I was truthful, though, and told her I probably did. I just need to be sure first, ya know?"

She manages a small nod, her eyes again falling closed. "What are you hiding from her?"

I chuckle—the kind that says you know me so fucking well. "I moved her in without asking."

A faint smile appears, and she doesn't even bother to glare at me. "How in the hell did you manage that?"

"It was before we came here. As she showered, I packed her things." I rub the back of my neck, ashamed to admit the last part. "She thinks it was clothes and only for a few days, but in reality, her clothes weren't worth the hassle. I only packed her other stuff."

Alice opens her eyes and lifts a thin, almost hairless brow. "Other stuff?"

"Yeah," I say, trying to win her to my side. "Important stuff. Pictures and shit."

"Non comportarti da sciocco," she mumbles, telling me not to act like a dumbfuck. " _Fix this_." Her eyes bore into me for only a second before she allows them to fall closed again with a tired sigh. "Are you ready to take over the helm?"

The sudden change in her line of questioning is unexpected, but I guess she's already given me my fucking marching orders. "Funnily enough," I say, pausing to consider how to phrase this. "I think I've been pretending to be ready for years. But I wasn't. Not really."

"And now?" she presses, her mouth turning down at the corners as she wiggles, trying to make herself more comfortable.

"Now, I'm ready," I reply, my voice firm and sure.

Her muscles tense as she grabs for her midsection, fighting through an obviously painful episode. I stand, ready to retrieve her husband, but she stops me cold. "No, Edward!" She takes a few deep breaths. "There are things you need to know."

I retake my seat and grab her hand, holding it between mine. "Then _tell_ me."

Her breaths start coming faster as she hurries to speak. "You know I'm"—another grimace—"the best when it comes to information. Even this bed can't hold me back. I've discovered some things you're going to need to take care of."

"Done. Just tell me, Alice," I say, wanting her to give me the information so I can take care of it, but also wanting her to be able to rest. "I promise, I won't let you down."

She tenses again, almost doubling into a ball. "Your father," she says through a rushed breath, the pain robbing her of words. "He … I tried to …"

Her whole body tenses and her eyes open wide, but they're distant, unseeing. I scramble from the bed and yell Jasper's name as I charge for the door. He slings it open and bypasses me altogether, going straight for the syringe in his nightstand.

I watch in horror as Bella flies into my arms and sobs into my chest. My mind is racing. One part of me is aching, but the other is already calculating his next move.

* * *

 **Next chapter should continue right here, though I haven't started it yet.**

 **A few months ago, I signed up to do a little thing called (F)ic (A)wesome (G)ift (E)xchange. FAGE is one of those things where you sign up just because you want to write a gift for someone and be a part of something nice. I figured I needed a little of that in my life. The bad news (I've been afraid to tell y'all), I have to write a story on the side. The good news, it'll all be posted on a single day for you to, hopefully, enjoy. I promise it won't affect Operation in the sense that you will still get a chapter every other week, at the very least. It will post on Feb. 25, and it will complete that same day.**

 **I can't stress how much your support means to me. Thank you for being here, reading my fic, and especially those who leave your words in exchange for mine. I don't do this for free, your reviews are my payment.**

 **See you next time :)**


	25. S-E-X

**Fran is the beta babe, and 2browneyes and Sunshine pre-read this chapter. I was a total fail in getting it to Ninkita, but I'll do better next time.**

* * *

 **Gore rating—0**

I hold Bella tightly to me, but my eyes are on my aunt as her body slowly relaxes from its tensed position, and her eyes fall closed. Her breaths quiet and become even as the potent medication works its way through her system.

Jasper lies quietly beside her, softly rubbing her arm to remind her he's close, and I have no fucking doubt whatsoever that she feels his presence. After another five minutes, Bella's tears come to an end, and my impatience rears its ugly head.

"Jasper," I say, my voice low but firm. "We need to talk."

Bella lifts her head and spears me with an admonishing look, but I shake my head once, firmly. "It's necessary."

"Now?" she asks, glancing to the bed and back to me incredulously.

"Yes, now," I respond firmly before narrowing my eyes toward Jasper. "Just give me a few minutes, and you'll be free to return to her side."

His jaw clenches, but he does get the fuck up. Yet, as he approaches, his eyes move past me for a brief moment before he stops before me. "This isn't the time, Edward."

"I get that, I really fucking do, but I _have_ to know what she was going to say." My stance hardens and my eyes narrow. "When will she wake again?"

"She won't." His eyes glimmer, and he looks away to compose himself before returning to meet my stare. "She held on for you, so she could see you." He jabs his pointer finger just shy of poking me in the chest. "She's made her peace with this world, and I promised her she'd never have to hurt again, and I intend to keep that promise." His voice cracks, but he swallows it back. "What she wanted to share was important, but not so important that I'll let it disrupt the end of her life."

"So what? You just want me to wait and wonder?" I ask incredulously as my temper explodes. "Fuck that! Give me the info, and I'll leave you in peace. Finish what your wife started!"

His whole fucking body tenses and he steps closer. His hand clasps my shoulder, and his eyes bore into mine. "That's exactly what I intend to do, in my own fucking way, in my own fucking time." He leans over just a fucking touch to flick his eyes behind me, then comes back with an even harder glare. "Alice has days left, Edward, _fucking days_. Just give me that. I swear to you, on my fucking life, as soon as my wife passes, it'll be taken care of."

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, preparing myself to give in to his plea. "Fine," I snap, unable to curb the irritation. "As soon as her heart stops beating, I'll expect answers."

He nods once. "Done."

Jasper and I are still in a stare down of sorts when my father barges into the room. "Is everything okay?" he asks, his voice almost panicked as he rushes past us and to Alice's bedside. "Oh, thank God." He grabs his chest, his eyes narrowing on me. "Did you upset her, Edward?"

At this point, Jasper has moved away and is currently giving me a warning glare—he knows me well. I clamp my jaw to keep from spewing accusations at my father. Maybe his part is minimal in whatever Alice was trying to say, maybe it's fucking huge, but either way, I don't _know_ a goddamn thing right now.

"No, nothing like that," Jasper responds instead. "She did have an episode before the visit was over, though."

My father's eyes fall to Alice, and he tenderly strokes her arm. "Rest in peace, sweet one."

When he looks back up grief clouds his eyes, and I have a new appreciation for their bond. Jasper, Alice and Pop have been a trio their whole lives. Always there for each other and always making decisions as a unit. Even the addition of my mother couldn't break the unbreakable—no, that distinction is reserved for death alone.

"Are you sure you don't need me to hire someone to help look after her?" Pop asks, his eyes on Jasper.

He heaves a deep sigh. "No, I have a nurse scheduled to arrive in the morning. She'll stay here until Alice's last hours. We'll be alone when she passes."

Pop nods absently, but what else can you do? We're talking about Alice's death, and it's even hard for me to comprehend—until you take one look at the shriveled-up body on the bed. That's when it all hits home. She's only a hull compared to the person we all know and love.

I clear my throat. "Bella and I are going to head out. I'm going to make it a point to stop in each evening, in case she wakes again." I give Jasper a meaningful stare. "But otherwise, call me anytime, day or night, if you need me."

"Will do, Edward," Jasper replies, taking up his spot on the bed beside his wife and clasping their hands. "Bella, you brought light to Alice's eyes tonight, and I very much appreciate you coming."

"It was my pleasure," Bella replies. "I'm honored that she wanted to meet me."

Pop lets out an unexpected chuckle. "Yeah, you're not done. I imagine Elizabeth is waiting to pounce at the bottom of the stairs as soon as you descend." His eyes flick from Bella to me. "Be nice, son. This is a hard time for all of us. Even your mother."

I pout like a fucking chastised kid, but I also know he's fucking right. Alice has always been kind to my mother, and she expects the same from me. "I suppose."

As soon as we exit the bedroom door, it's my intention to remind Bella of my earlier warning, but that shit doesn't happen. My mother is leaned against the wall, waiting to pounce as my father so correctly put it.

"Mother," I say, pausing as she steps closer and places a non-kiss to each side of my cheek. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Nonsense, dear," she replies, waving me off. "And you are?" She holds out her hand, in a prissy fucking way no less, and eyes Bella curiously.

Just as Bella takes her hand, I speak before she has a chance. "This is Bella Swan, my girlfriend."

My mother doesn't even try to cover her shock. Her hand freezes, causing Bella's brows to furrow as she glances at me. I smirk and hold up a finger. "Is there a problem?" I ask, my eyes flashing to where she has Bella's hand gripped tightly.

"Oh, no, of course not," my mother says, retrieving her hand and needlessly straightening her collar. "Swan, that name seems familiar is all."

"Well, it probably fucking should since Renee Swan was a very close friend of yours when you were still a part of this family." I watch for the moment it all clicks.

Her eyes jump to me and then to Bella before she shakes her head. "No, Edward, please, tell me you didn't?"

"Not in the way you'd think," I say, offering her a shrug. "We had no idea at first, and by the time we found out, well ..."

Her lips purse, and she props her hands on her hips as her eyes go back and forth between Bella and me. "I take it this is serious then?"

Bella's eyes find mine, as if she too is curious of my reply, and that pisses me the fuck off. "Why you looking at me that way, solare?" I cup her cheek, my emotions torn between a slice of heartbreak and a chunk of anger. "Please don't tell me after everything I've said, hell, everything we've been through, that you have doubts. Have I fucked up so bad that my words mean nothing?"

She nuzzles her cheek into my palm. "You've fucked up, but not _that_ bad." Her eyes spark with mirth. "I was just curious how you were going to answer your mother since she's unchartered territory, so to speak."

I smirk and kiss her smart little mouth, only to be disturbed by a loud ass throat-clearing before I can deepen it. I sigh and rest my forehead against Bella's. "Let's finish this so we can go home."

"Well, I suppose that answers my question," Mother says tersely. "This is all the more reason for you to give up your dangerous lifestyle, Edward."

"Stop it," I snap, causing Bella to look cautiously between my mother and me. "Your argument is old and tired. You pretend to be the queen of virtue, yet you spend the blood money the same as the rest of us, so fucking spare me the sanctimonious bullshit."

My mother fakes indignation, her gasp added for effect only. "I only want what's best for my family, Edward. How can you fault me for that?" The crocodile tears start shimmering as she switches her focus to Bella. "Is this what you want, dear? To live life always looking over your shoulder and for your kids to follow Edward down this same dangerous path?"

I take a deep breath and exhale it through my nose, trying to calm the fuck down before replying to her senseless bullshit, but Bella beats me to it. "Mrs. Cullen, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but who deemed you the keeper of life choices? Who granted you the power to emphatically state that your choices are the correct ones?"

"Well, why wouldn't they be, dear?" she asks, doing a good job of acting superior. "A life of charity and doing good for the community can only be considered a noble choice."

Bella's shoulders straighten, and her chin lifts just slightly. "While charity does seem noble, it doesn't make you the paragon of all things good. That comes from how you treat those you love, no matter _their_ choices. So from where I'm standing, I'm sure you understand why I might question your logic."

Mother's eyes narrow, but I'm sick of this conversation. I'm ready to go the hell home and bare my deepest, most fucked up secrets to my girlfriend. "While this has been an interesting chat,"—I pause, shaking my head because that's a goddamn lie—"fuck that. It's the same old tired shit we discuss every time we speak. So I'll just say, good fucking day, Mother."

I grab Bella's hand and guide her toward the staircase, leaving my gaping mother standing in the empty hallway. "That was interesting," Bella murmurs as we reach the front door.

"Not interesting. Not important." I open the door and scan the yard warily before leading her toward the Hummer. "My mother has spent the past ten years distancing herself from this family."

Bella slides into the back seat before me, and when I'm settled beside her, she says, "I almost feel sorry for her."

"Don't waste your time," I say, propping my arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer into my side. "She did this to herself, and she continues to perpetuate that her way is the only salvation for any of us."

"I understand it to a point, being worried about your loved ones, but part of loving someone is trusting them." Her words hang in the air, and I stay quiet, silently pondering them as we speed back into the city.

This is a sticking point for us. For her to truly love me, she needs to trust me. But I want even more than that. I want her to know me through and through before she makes that declaration.

The rest of the ride is spent in comfortable quiet after such a taxing day. I send a few important texts and receive a few more. Specifically, one from Emmett.

 _The list is ready – Em_

 _Let's shelve it until the morning –E_

 _You sure? —Em_

 _Yep. Got something important to take care_ _of_ _tonight. –E_

After the last text, I turn off my phone just as we enter the garage. The rest of the day is for Bella and me alone. There's shit we need to discuss, not to mention just an epic fucking cool down from the shit we've been through in the last couple of days.

Garrett opens my door, and I step out, taking the bag of takeout from one of my favorite restaurants. Then I lean down to hold a hand out to Bella. Her eyes dance with excitement as she takes it. There's a spark in the air, and somehow, it doesn't fuck with my insides.

Maybe it's because there are eight other motherfuckers gawking at us, or maybe it's because I'm miraculously cured, but either way, it'll be in the open tonight. And tomorrow, she'll truly know what kind of man I am.

The ride up the elevator is weird. Even with the new spark between us, it doesn't feel sexual. It feels anticipatory. Like we're on the verge of something big, but I'm not quite sure this talk is enough to qualify. It's an interesting sensation, and it drives me to act in an unusual way.

As the elevator dings, a spurt of playfulness overcomes me, and I lift Bella, tossing her over my shoulder and carrying her kicking and laughing into the penthouse. I don't even stop in the living room. I follow the hallway all the way back to our room and toss her on the bed, setting the bag of food on the nightstand.

She's breathless and happy, her dress hiked up her thighs. "What was that all about?" she asks, eyeing me way too fucking sexily.

"Cool it, tiger," I respond with a chuckle. "We're here to talk, that's all, for right now at least."

She licks her lips and trails her hand up her thigh, hiking her dress so high her thong comes into view. "We could talk … after."

I chuckle and shake my head, starting for the dresser as soon as the first wave of flutters hit my stomach. "Come here," I say, opening the drawer and pulling a Dolce and Gabbana T-shirt from inside. "I'm serious about talking. You'll understand when we do … start talking that is."

She pretend pouts as she approaches, and I smirk, tossing the shirt over my shoulder. Very slowly, I step forward and fist the skirt of her dress, lifting it over her head, my eyes staring straight the fuck into hers. She stands, un-a-fucking-shamed, daring me to get an eyeful, and I'm so fucking tempted, but I'm also so fucking afraid I'll ruin the fun moment.

With a snort, I say, "Arms up."

Her eyes narrow only slightly as she lifts them. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Edward?" She's not playing anymore; she's serious as shit. "Why do you not want to have sex with me?"

"Fuck!" I snap, irritated with the whole situation. "Look, I'm going to go grab a quick shower, and you crawl into bed and get started on your food. I promise when I'm done, we'll talk. If I'm being honest, it's not something that's going to be easy to admit."

"Are you turned off?" she asks warily.

"No fucking way; no fucking how," I say, shaking my head adamantly. "This has _nothing_ to do with you."

She crosses her arms with a huff. "I find that un-fucking-likely."

My jaw ticks as I consider a response. "Fine," I snap, leaning closer to make my point. "It has _everything_ to do with you, but nothing to do with you at the same time. This is me. I'm fucked in the head and if you'd listen, you'd learn just how much."

"Fine!" she snaps, stomping back toward the bed.

I take a deep breath and blow it out through my nose before I grab a pair of boxer briefs from my drawer and march to the en-suite. The shower does little to soothe me, but I make it quick because I'm actually eager to discuss this with her, even though it's some fucked up shit to admit.

When I re-enter my room, I'm pretty fucking happy to see that's she's sitting on the edge of the bed, using the nightstand as a table—and neatly—eating her gourmet chicken sandwich. I quietly close the space between the bed and me, grabbing the towel that hangs over my shoulder and rubbing it over my still-damp hair.

She must catch the movement because she turns quickly, and when she sets eyes on me, she gives me a too-fucking-thorough once-over. "Hey, hey," I say, waving toward my face. "Eyes up here."

Instead of getting pissed again, she offers me a bright smile as she plops the rest of her sandwich back in the container and brings her finger to her lips. It disappears inside, and I close my fucking eyes, but that doesn't help at all. My goddamn imagination takes over, and _that_ version is probably more risqué than the real thing.

I snap my eyes back open and toss the towel across the bed. "Clean your hands, solare." My voice is low and soft, and she sees it for what it is.

A plea to stop fucking with me.

She grabs the damp towel and uses it to wipe her hands, but then she does the most fucked up thing. She wipes her goddamn mouth with it, too. It takes everything within me not to visibly cringe. While I'm still processing that shit, she tosses it to the floor and slips beneath the duvet, looking to me expectantly.

It still takes me another few seconds to get over what just transpired, but with her sitting there in my too-large, expensive T-shirt, dark eyes imploring, I don't have the heart to say anything. I simply lift the duvet and slide in beside her, pushing that other shit to the back of my mind.

Without any prompting, we both settle on our sides, facing each other, the duvet tucked beneath our underarms. For one blissful moment, silence is the law of the land, but all too soon, it's broken with a patient sigh and a soft brush to my cheek as her fingers work their way into my hair.

"What is it, Edward?" she asks, her voice soft and more understanding than she should be, considering how I've acted toward her when things heat up between us.

I push closer, because I fucking crave her nearness, and settle my hand on her waist—on top of the fucking duvet. "It's just … fuck, this is hard to say." I close my eyes and center myself, focusing on the feel of her hand as it ghosts through my hair. When I reopen them, I think I'm ready. "The last time, ya know, when we, we uh …"

She giggles and tightens her fist, giving me a look. "Come on, Edward. Please don't tell me you can't even say it. _Sex_ ," she says, stressing it. "S-E-X. We had sex."

"Is that what it was?" I ask, actually fucking curious. "Because I've had sex before and it has never been like that."

Her eyes soften, and she releases her death grip on my hair. "You're right. It wasn't just sex."

"Good," I say, giving her a smart-ass smirk. "But for this conversation, let's call it that. We had sex. I told you it fucked me up, and that's why I ran, but I didn't expand on what that meant. There's a part of me that's a cold, uncaring, calculating motherfucker. When it takes over I just do; I run off pure instinct. It doesn't recognize love as an option for emotion, with one caveat. Emmett."

I pause and trail my hand up her body, pushing her dark hair over her shoulder just to have something to do. "That night …" I close my eyes, bringing those feelings to the forefront, which sends a flutter through my stomach. I bury the feelings quickly and open my eyes. "It was fucking beautiful. It stirred things inside me that aren't allowed. Thinking about it, _even now_ , makes me fucking nauseous."

"Nauseous?" she repeats, blinking at me several times as she tries to grasp what I'm saying. "As in sick to your stomach? Are you fucking with me, Edward? Because if you are—"

"I'm not," I interrupt, giving her a dead fucking serious stare. "Every time things get to a point where it feels like it's moving away from affection and onto something more, I start feeling queasy."

"Do you …" She pauses, gnawing her bottom lip as she thinks through what she wants to say. "Do you think we should, maybe, try to just push past it?"

"I'd fucking love to, solare, but I can't stomach the thought of it getting worse than what I've already felt." I brush her cheek tenderly. "I'd probably never be able to have sex again if it didn't work."

"Okay. Then we need to figure it out," she says, nodding. "And you're sure I'm not the problem?"

"It is _not_ you," I say firmly. "I want you near me constantly. I crave your touch. Your kisses. _You._ Until it turns sexual."

She's quiet for a second, her expression thoughtful. "Are you afraid, Edward?"

"No," I respond automatically. "What the fuck do I have to be afraid of?"

"Those feelings," she says quietly. "The ones that make you nauseous. I mean, I know you said you weren't sure, but what you're describing sounds a lot like love to me. It's what I felt … still feel. You act like you do, and it's what we did. We made love, Edward."

My mouth opens to deny her words, but can I? I don't have a fucking clue. I _do_ think I love her. Am I really afraid to feel something so deep again? Something a part of me has always forbidden.

"That might actually make a little sense," I finally respond. "But how can I think it's true yet not want to feel it?"

She shrugs. "I'm not sure, but we're not in a hurry. Having sex is just a bonus of being together, a nice one, but a bonus nonetheless. If you still want me around, especially without the sex, then that makes me oddly happy."

"Oddly happy?" I ask on a chuckle.

"Sure. It actually makes your words and actions mean more when sex isn't a part of the equation," she says, and I get her point.

I push closer still, bringing our bodies together. "How did I get so fucking lucky?" I ask, but I don't give her time to reply.

After a perfect tongue-tangling kiss, she pulls back with a smile. "We have all the time in the world, Edward."

And she's right, we do.

She releases a contented sigh as she pulls away and rolls to her back. "Are you going to eat?" she asks, pointing to the bag of food.

"Nah," I say, not really wanting to eat in bed. "I'm not that hungry."

She sits up and grabs her half-eaten container, placing it back in the bag, and collects her dirty napkins. "I'll go trash this and put your plate in the fridge." She gives me a cute little smirk. "I wouldn't want your snobbish tendencies to make an appearance."

"Ha, ha," I say sarcastically, grabbing the window remote and darkening them to black.

Once that's done, I settle lower down in the bed, anxious for Bella's return. Tomorrow is a new fucking day, and she has a lot more to learn about the man that maybe loves her.

My eyes slowly start closing as this long-ass day has finally come to an end, and Bella and I are okay. A few seconds later, a noise at the door causes me to quickly jump up, on high-fucking-alert.

But when I see what's there I want to fucking hide.

Bella is naked as the day she was fucking born and dragging her open suitcase behind her, shit falling out every-fucking-where, as she stalks toward me with deadly intent.

* * *

 **One convo down, one to go.**

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 **I'll see you there before here again.**


	26. There Is Only Love

**Super special thanks to Fran for doing this overnight for y'all! All my pre-readers also got a quick peek, 2browneyes, Sunshine and Ninkita. Thanks, ladies :)**

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 **Gore rating— -10 *snickers***

 **Notifications were hit and miss last chapter, so check to make sure you read it!**

I should probably turn away, but I fucking can't look anywhere else. It's as if the lighting has been professionally set to accentuate her nakedness in the most sinful way, and there's a fan blowing her long hair to form a halo around her luscious frame.

She drops the suitcase and gives it a kick for good measure, her eyes alight with fire as she narrows them on me. "What the fuck is this, Edward?" she snaps, placing her hands on her hips—her curvaceous, naked hips.

I want to cover my eyes, but my hand won't even make the effort. I just keep ogling her perfectly toned body. "Where are your clothes?" I ask, meaning the ones she wore into the other room, but apparently, that's the wrong fucking question.

"That's what I'd like to fucking know!" she yells, this time her fists balled at her sides. "What is all this crap?" She leans down and picks up a glass figurine, tossing it at my fucking head. I duck just in time, and it shatters against the wall beside headboard. "I don't even know where half this trash came from! Why is it in my suitcase, Edward?"

"Jesus fuck," I mutter, forcing my eyes away from the fiery visage she creates. "I was going to talk to you about that."

"What was that?" she asks snarkily, causing my traitorous eyes to stray back in her direction. Her arms are crossed, pushing her firm tits up just fucking so. "I'm not sure I heard that right because I know you didn't fucking say you were going to talk to me about it. When, Edward?" She steps closer, shaking her hair out like she's in some fucking shampoo commercial. "Was it earlier when we were already talking? Or was it when you packed my suitcase and forgot all my fucking clothes!"

"Look, Bella," I say, being careful to keep my eyes on hers. "I'm sorry, okay. I was a little preoccupied earlier. I promise I was going to tell you."

"Tell me what?" she prods, speaking through gritted teeth.

"That I'll get you some new clothes, better ones," I say, trying to highlight the perks of being my girlfriend. "I mean, think of all the nice shit I can buy you."

"I didn't ask you to buy me anything, Edward!" she yells, turning to give me a fine view of her muscled ass as she kicks the suitcase again, causing more shit to scatter across the carpet. "I just wanted to take a fucking shower and change into my own clothes." Her voice is lower now, defeated, as she turns back to me. "Why would you do this?"

I sigh, looking down at the empty spot beside me. "The truth?"

"Yes, Edward, the truth."

"That answer is twofold," I say, meeting her less-than-earlier glare. "For one, there's no way in fucking hell you're going back to your apartment, and two, since that's the case, I thought I might as well get you nicer things in the process."

I expect her to blow up again, but she doesn't. She stays quiet for a minute, looking me over thoughtfully—naked still, we can't fucking forget that.

She finally smirks, but even I can admit, it's an evil as fuck smirk. "Are you asking me to move in with you, Edward? Is that what this is?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely," I say with a too-cocky nod.

"While I'm inclined to find that endearing"—she pauses and licks her fucking lips—"I don't appreciate you trashing my clothes." She looks down at herself as she rubs across her tit and down her stomach. "Now what's a girl gonna wear?" Her hand keeps going, and it's like a train wreck I can't turn away from.

Her eyes fall closed as her fingers brush her clit, and a low hum vibrates across the room; straight into my cock. I'm fucking powerless as her fingers disappear between her thighs and come back out slick and glistening. The slightest flutter moves through me, but I ignore it, unable to tear my eyes away.

Her fingers disappear again, her speed increasing, but she makes sure to pull them back so I can see the full extent of her wetness. My cock is weeping, and my hands are gripping the duvet, desperately wishing I could be the one to cause the fucking erotic sounds she's making. But just as my resolve crumbles and I start to move, a wave of nausea rolls through me, planting me in my spot.

As if she knows exactly what just happened—and of course she fucking does—she withdraws her fingers and sucks them clean before giving me a bright smile. "Off to the shower to take care of myself!" Her perky ass bounces across the room, and she shuts the door.

I can hear her laughter from here.

Fucking sexy, conniving bitch.

I heave a heavy sigh, thinking through the encounter. I mean, she's mad as hell, but she also seems to get me—even if only slightly. Even through her anger, she was able to distinguish my intentions. I'm sure once she has all the new, expensive shit I buy her, she'll forget she was ever mad in the first place.

Grabbing my phone, I shoot off a text to Jessica which details exactly what I expect her to show up with in the morning. I may be a fucking idiot, but at least I paid attention to the sizes on her ratty clothes as I was avoiding them. After that's done, I get up and start picking up the shit that's strewn all over the carpet. As I shove it back inside the suitcase, I realize how monumentally stupid I am to think these things matter to her. Aside from a couple of photos, the rest is just junk.

When I'm done, I crawl my tired ass underneath the duvet, killing all the lights aside from the lamp on Bella's side of the bed. With the city of Chicago hidden behind the blackened glass and the sound of water running in the bathroom, I find myself being lulled to sleep.

I fight like hell to keep my eyes open because I should wait for Bella; I _want_ to wait for Bella, but this day has been long as fuck, and I slowly drift. The next time I open my eyes, I can make out the light from the en-suite as the door is open and steam is billowing out. I try like hell to hang on, but once again, my eyes fall closed.

My next bout of consciousness is completely different. The light from the bathroom is no longer shining and neither is the lamp on Bella's side of the bed. A low erotic beat pumps from the sound system, and the spot beside me is empty. I sit up, brushing the sleep from my eyes, and realize the city of Chicago is bright and beautiful before me.

But that's not the fucked up part.

It's the naked silhouette.

Bella is leaned against the glass, the city lights reflecting in the water droplets that dot her skin. "Good, you're awake," she purrs.

She anchors her shoulders against the glass and juts her hips, undulating them from side to side. I turn to the side, trying to ignore her erotic display, but it's futile. My eyes are glued to the movement. She slips down the glass and runs her hands along her body until they rest on her spread knees. Her pussy is wide-open for me to see, only the lighting is too low, and the moisture from her body has been transferred to the glass, causing a prism of sparkles to highlight her position.

I groan as I cover my eyes, but I'm unable to fight the pull. She's driving me goddamn crazy, and she fucking knows it. "Bella," I rasp, my tone pleading. "I get it. I fucking swear."

She shimmies her shoulders as she rises, her hips constantly fucking moving, imitating motions I'd rather not think about too deeply. "What do you get, Edward?" she asks, her body continuing its raunchy dance.

I scrub my hand through my hair and take a deep breath. So this is what she wants? She's going to fucking torture me until I either fuck up so bad she leaves me or somehow miraculously say the right shit.

"Fuck!" I spit, not liking those odds. "I should've asked if you were okay with staying here before I packed your things."

The song has changed now, and her movements speed, but she's able to speak as if she were lying right beside me. Not even winded. "Yes," she says, lifting her leg straight up in the air and holding it as there's a pause in the music. "You should've. I would've even said yes. I am still saying yes, actually." She drops her leg, and at the same time, falls into a full split with her back flush against the window.

I'm so overwhelmed by the move that I almost miss her words, but I don't, even with her shifting and bringing her legs up into a V. "You're still saying yes?" I ask, barely able to speak as she works her legs down and somehow shimmies into a standing position. She's working the glass like a fucking pole—and my cock has turned into its own pole, a fucking steel one.

"Of course," she says, spinning to give me a view of her perfect ass as it sways from side to side.

Her hands are planted on the glass, with her arms locked, and she starts moving her head, her wild, just-perfectly-wet hair snapping like a whip with the precise movements. As the beat stutters, she freezes with her body plastered against the glass—for every perverted motherfucker in Chicago with binoculars to ogle.

"Bella," I growl, my heartbeat picking up speed as irritation flows through my veins. "You may be sexy as fuck right now, but your body is for _my_ viewing pleasure only."

The music continues a heady beat as she turns again, barely swaying her body, but this time it's her hands that are doing all the movement as they trail over her skin. "This bothers you, then?" she asks, sucking a finger in her mouth and moving to twirl it around her hard-ass nipple. "Maybe you should've thought of your punishment _before_ you did the crime."

"I did," I snap, my fucking cock aching. "I knew you'd be mad, but we were supposed to talk, remember?"

"Yeah," she says with a satisfied sigh. "I remember. Maybe you should've"—she pauses to gasp as her finger slips into her pussy—"been a little more proactive." She throws her head back in pleasure, and it thumps against the glass.

"Stop it!" I shout, slinging the duvet from my body and pressing my palm against my raging boner. "Right now, Bella. I'm fucking warning you!"

"Make me." She moans as her fingers and hips work together to heighten her pleasure. "Ah, ah," she gasps all breathy and shit. "So fucking clo—"

She's cut off by my tongue as I shoveit into her mouth at the same time as I snatch her hands up to pin them against the glass. I anchor my knee between her thighs, but I realize that mistake pretty goddamn quickly. Her wet pussy finds purchase, seeking the friction she's in desperate need of. I chuckle darkly as I trap her legs between my thighs and bite her fucking lip for good measure.

"Is this what you want, Bella?" I ask, pressing my cock against her stomach. "Or do you just want the whole of Chicago to watch while I fuck you from behind?"

"Don't make threats you can't follow _up_ on," she snarks, biting the edge of my fucking jaw.

A low growl escapes and I spin her, pressing firmly against the back of her head to hold her face against the glass. "Do you see all those windows? Just imagine how many eyes are on us right now. Do you like that? Is that what turns you on?"

I kick her legs apart and press my rock-hard cock against her ass, seeing red over her stunt, but she could give a fuck less. She braces her body and wiggles against my cock, causing a growl to rumble in my chest.

I loosen my hold on the back of her head. "Don't fucking move," I grit, easing my hand off just in case she doesn't follow my instructions. When I'm satisfied with her obedience, I step back and trail my fingers down her spine.

Her skin is fucking perfect, her shape is goddamn divine and her eagerness is almost my undoing, but I push it all down and focus on the most important thing. The one that's allowing this to happen at all. My fucking anger. At her. For sharing what belongs to me with the whole fucking city. The only real solution is clear; show those peeping motherfuckers who she belongs to.

Trailing my fingers back up her spine, I grab a lock of her hair and twist it around my fist until it's tight against her head. She moans and pushes her ass more firmly against my cock. I'm afraid of what might happen if I let myself feel too much in the wrong moment, so I tamp down a passionate growl and bite my tongue just to piss myself off more.

It fucking works, and I use my free hand to grip my cock. Working in tandem, I use both my hands to punish her for this blessedly fucked up position we're in. Pulling with my left and pushing with my right, I start a torturous rhythm where I come just shy of giving her what she wants.

It's too dark to see the fine details of where we're not yet joined, so instead, I focus my eyes above her and toward all the lights shining from the surrounding skyscrapers. And that does it. It fuels my rage just enough. On the next pass, I slip inside just slightly and grip her hip, a little too roughly, slamming her back at the same time as I thrust forward.

"Umph," Bella grunts, and my fucking eyes roll to the back of my head.

But I don't allow myself to stop and think about how it feels inside my fucked up head. I just start pivoting my hips, determined to make a point to any fucker with his eyes pointed our way.

"Mine," I grunt, slamming our bodies together. "You like making perverts jealous, Bella?" I tighten my fist and pull just a tad harder. "Because I can pound this pretty pussy all night."

Bella doesn't respond, but she does brace her palms against the glass and tense her body, causing the head of my cock to slam the same spot over and over. Her breaths speed, and I'm still a little too pissed for it to be over, so I slow down and release my hold on her hair for better control at the hips.

"What's the matter?" she asks, between hurried breaths. "Can't finish the job?"

I line my chest against her back and bite my way across her shoulder as I continue slow but steady thrusts. By the time my lips reach her ear, she's a panting mess. "I'm not sure I'm ready to finish." I latch my teeth onto her lobe and tug, causing a shiver to move over her. "Did your little plan backfire, Bella?"

"A backfire …" She stops and takes a few breaths. "Would imply something went wrong." She throws her head back and makes some of the fucking sexiest sounds I've ever heard. "There's _nothing_ wrong about this."

And she's right. It even feels like there's nothing wrong with me, so I pull out quickly and flip her around, shoving my tongue down her throat. Both of us are so desperate to join again that the kiss is sloppy and wet, but who gives a fuck. Our hands are scrambling, mine to lift her thighs and hers to make sure she slides right back down my cock.

Our chests are pressed tightly together, and her fingers tighten in my hair as our tongues tangle in tandem with our thrusts. Her back is against the glass, and it even squeaks with the motions, but neither us can be bothered to care. We're here. We're fucking connected, and most importantly, I only feel pure goddamn pleasure.

She pulls away with a moan, and her head thumps against the glass. "Right there … please."

I keep my thrusts even as I lean down, sucking a pert nipple into my mouth. When I close my teeth around it, her hands tighten in my hair and her legs tense. Letting go, I give it a firm suck and scrape against the bud even harder. Panting moans build in her throat and come out as soft low sighs in rapid succession as her pussy flutters. Keeping her on the edge as long as I can, I work every tool at my disposal to drive her fucking mad before shifting just slightly and bringing her home.

As she spasms around me, I pull back to take in the view. She's gorgeous in her pleasure. Her hair is wild and splayed against the glass, her eyes are dark, but I can feel her stare. Her mouth is open as breathy mewls build alongside her passion, and her fingernails dig into my shoulders, sending a ripple of sensation traveling through me.

The knot in my lower abdomen explodes, and shudders move through me as my cock pulsates inside her. We're locked in a sweaty mess of skin and a tangle of limbs. Our breaths are heavy, but our gazes remain locked.

With careful tenderness, I release the death grip on her thighs, pressing against the glass to support her weight. My hands trail up her sides and across her tits on the way to encase her sex-flushed cheeks.

"Bella, I just want to try one thing," I whisper roughly. "Stay very still." I lean forward slowly, my mind intent, insistent, demanding that I conquer my issues. "Don't move."

Her breath hitches just before my lips descend on hers. This kiss is different than any other we've shared during this encounter. I start with a soft pass before pressing again, more firmly this time. Opening my mouth, I nudge my tongue along the seam of her closed lips, eliciting a soft sigh as she opens. Our tongues tangle in a slow and languid pace, giving me every opportunity to balk.

And I don't.

Not even when my cock takes notice of his warm, wet surroundings and starts to perk up again. A strange sense of accomplishment rushes through me, and my sexual ego fucking explodes for the first time in what feels like forever.

Bella must notice, too, because her fucking long, sexy legs tighten around my waist and her grip on me is more urgent. I move my hands to her ass and break the kiss as I lean back and pull her away from the glass.

Her lips continue moving, from my mouth to my jaw to my neck where her small nips cause my cock to harden even further. I almost stumble across the room, barely able to maintain complete function of my senses as her mouth and hands torture me in the best ways.

When we get to the bed, I toss her onto the duvet, my cock slipping from her. She giggles breathlessly and reaches for me as I cradle myself between her thighs. Instead of allowing ourselves to become overwhelmed again, I slow it down.

As I brush her wild hair from her face, everything I've been burying bombards me, but it doesn't hurt. It doesn't scare me or make me queasy. There is no resistance.

There is only love.

My love for her.

* * *

 **I apologize in advance for the wordiness.**

 **So on round 1, I only mentioned the Twificfandom Awards in general, as there were TONS of stories in a lot of categories to vote on, but now we're in round 2 with only an average of 10 options each. I didn't necessarily expect to even move forward, and especially not in some categories, but I did, and I can only assume some of you out there are responsible.**

 **I'm not going to list all the categories I'm in still, but I will tell you the two I'm most proud of. Operation Nail the Swan has made it into round 2 for Drop Everything Fic. Now, I know you're ALL mostly WIPers and are probably reading every story on the list, but if it excites you to get an update, I'd love if you gave it a vote. My second category is Favorite Screener (pre-reader). There are a lot of popular names on the list with me, and I sometimes wonder if you guys pay much attention to who pre-reads what, but I am currently the prereader for three posting fics, and I've pre-read tons of contest OS and some stories that have already completed. Think of me when you're making your selections, please. *bats lashes***

 **And finally, my FAGE fic posted Sunday in case you missed it somehow. Isle of Twilight. It's complete and on my profile!**

 **See you as soon as I can :)**


	27. Ringside Seat

**Fran whips these chapters into shape, and Ninkita, 2browneyes and Sunshine are kind enough to give me thoughts. XOXOXO**

* * *

 **Gore rating—1 (for the inkling)**

The sound of my phone vibrating on the nightstand brings me to consciousness, yet I keep my eyes closed because I can already feel the heat from the bright-ass sun burning through my wall of windows.

"Fuck," I mutter, rolling to my side to bury my head against Bella.

Except the bed is empty, and her spot is cold. For one split second, I begin to wonder if I imagined last night, but a sound drifts down the hallway preventing me from freaking the fuck out.

I relax and roll onto my back, reaching for my phone and bringing the duvet over my head. It's a text from Emmett, letting me know that the email with the list of names is sitting in my inbox. My jaw tightens as I move to my highly secure email app, opening it and clicking on a recipe for chocolate cake.

On the face, that's all it is. A recipe. But for Edward Cullen, it's a hell of a lot more. After following very specific protocols, the recipe gives way to the real message. What's before me is a list of six names along with the part of the mission they were unknowingly aware of. Two of those names are Emmett and Rosalie, and the other four are Grizzly Armor employees.

It's pretty fucking standard for Emmett to have his workers inadvertently involved in a mission. They don't have a goddamn clue what they're actually tracking or who they're making secure arrangements for, whether it's the Chicago Mob or an uber-wealthy client. And as we use our network of aliases, they're even less likely to have any fucking idea.

There are a couple of things on the list that give me pause. A paragraph at the bottom mentions Pop and outlines the details he knew—with two outliers. Number one is Jasper, as Emmett has no way of knowing for sure how much of the Boss' knowledge was passed along, but my guess is every bit of it. The second is Esme. We've always tried to exclude her from _business,_ but how much she truly knows is anybody's guess.

I bypass all this in favor of one fucking name in the four employees. My jaw clenches as I consider the possibility of a betrayal and then deem it very fucking likely. Exiting the email program, I pull up a text to Caius and give him a very precise order in a code only he can decipher. His reply comes thirty seconds later.

With my day already shaping up before me, I toss the duvet from my body and squint at the bright sunlight. Sounds still tinker from the hallway, so I move to the en-suite to take a piss and grab my silk robe before seeking my woman.

I find her in the kitchen among a colossal mess, and she's still fully fucking naked. When she realizes she's being watched, she pauses and turns to me. I'd like to say I'm fucking stunned by her cuteness with patches of flour on her cheek and tit—I am, just a tiny fucking bit—but I'm a whole lot more stunned by the destruction she's wreaked making a simple breakfast of pancakes.

My eyes travel the counter, taking in all the ingredients scattered every-fucking-where and then to the bowls with tan-colored goo dripping onto the marble. They then go to the stovetop, which has a smoking pan just waiting to burn the next ladle of batter into a goddamn crisp.

When they trail to her, though, my disgust all fades away at the uncertainty I see in her eyes. She must see the second the flip switches because she lets out a cute little giggle and swoops over, turning off the burner swiftly and trying to race past me. She only makes it two feet before my forearm is looped around her waist.

"Bella," I say, my free hand reaching for the spatula she's flailing in the air. "Surely you didn't think you'd get away _un_ dressed like this, did you?" I toss the spatula on the bar top and maneuver her around, so she's seated with me standing between her naked thighs. "I thought we settled this last night?" I lift a brow as my eyes skim her bare skin.

Her elbows move to rest on my shoulders as she brings her body closer to mine. "I think we definitely had a good negotiation session, but until I have more clothes, I'd say we're at an impasse."

I nip at her perfectly pouty lips, my cock hardening at the thought of those _negotiations_. "Maybe we should try again?"

She stares at me, her breaths growing heavier as she scrapes her teeth over her bottom lip. "So you're ready, no unwanted sensations?"

Gripping her hips tightly, I pull her forward and grind her already slick pussy against my cock. There's only a flimsy piece of silk separating us. "I'm having sensations, Bella, a whole hell of a lot of them, actually, but they're all pushing me to fuck you right here on this bar."

She moans, her hands tightening in my hair. "Do it," she breathes, her tongue tracing my neck.

As much as I want to, the plans I've made for today hold me back. I growl as I put some space between us and grab her cheeks between my palms. "I would love nothing more, but not yet." I shush her with a finger across her lips when she opens her mouth to respond. "I want so bad in this moment to tell you that I love you, but there are still parts of me you haven't met. Today is that day. If you still want me after we come back home this evening, I promise, you'll hear the words."

"No." She shakes her head. "There's nothing you could do to make me change my mind."

"Are you sure about that, Bella? Really fucking sure? Because I don't think so," I say, pressing a firm kiss to her lips. "If you accept my love, you have to accept the monster's as well."

"What does that even mean?" she asks, her tone frustrated, and I get it, I really fucking do.

"It means I intend to share every part of myself with you today, and this is your chance to walk away," I say, and my blood races with the thought. "If you stay after this, then you stay for good. Got me?"

She cups my jaw. "Why are you talking like this?"

"I have to, Bella," I respond, my thoughts going to my parents and how they've suffered through life because my mother didn't really know _who_ she married. "I promise to give you the best life I can, and I'll always be faithful, but I have to trust that my secrets are safe with you. I can't live a life with someone and hide a part of who I am."

"Okay." She nods as she takes a deep breath. "But isn't asking for a decision like that to be made _today_ and no other day a little much?"

I chuckle humorlessly. "Trust me, you'll see."

"How about we shelve this talk until after, then?" she asks, resting her head against my shoulder.

I brush my hand along the length of her back, savoring having her in my arms. "We can do that."

I hold her for a few quiet minutes, the playfulness gone, and in its place are a lot of heavy thoughts. As soon as I tossed her on the bed last night, I knew. I love her more than I've ever loved another human being. And that's what we did, both last night and before; we made love.

I want to keep her, but only if she can accept me fully.

And that's asking a fucking lot.

The ding of the elevator interrupts us, and it only takes a glance at the clock to realize it's Jessica fulfilling her orders. Bella lifts her head, eyeing me suspiciously, but I give her a smirk. Holding up a finger, I turn so I'm facing outward, my body covering all her goodies, and her arms drape around my waist as she eagerly peeks around to see our visitor.

Jessica enters pushing a rolling clothes rack filled to the brim with expensive selections. Behind her, one of my security guys pushes another rack-type thing with four drawers and two shelves beneath them filled with shoes. He promptly parks it and retreats to the elevator with barely a nod in my direction.

Smart motherfucker.

Bella's eyes go from watching Jessica to side-eyeing me, but I just tilt my head for her to pay attention. When Jessica finally looks up from arranging all the shit she brought in, her face morphs from the usual disinterest to surprise quite rapidly. Though her features barely move, due to the Botox, the variance is obvious.

My brows draw down in the center as I snap my fingers. "Were you able to acquire the Carine Gilson garments I requested?" My tone is brisk and dismissive—the usual when speaking to her.

"N-no, sir," she stutters, moving to the second cart that was rolled in. "They are on order, though, and I was able to browse a selection of Jean Yu and obtain some excellent pieces."

I purse my lips, though I expected as much. "Very well," I snap, waving my hand impatiently. "Bring over a set and make yourself otherwise occupied."

After digging through a drawer, she pulls out a crème bra and panty set with minimal black accents. As she approaches, her eyes slyly flit to my right hand as it tenderly caresses Bella's calf. From there, she gets up the nerve to trail over to my own bare legs and lift her gaze slowly to meet my eyes. When she finally reaches her destination, my stare is so stone cold that she glances away and blindly passes the garments over before hurriedly retreating.

Turning in Bella's embrace, I hold up the lingerie. "Please say you'll wear them?"

Her eyes go from the items to me and back again before she reaches over to finger the material. "They're nice," she says with a shrug. "Not my usual, for sure."

"Only the fucking best for you, solare," I say, smirking.

She tilts her head and offers me a condescending smile as she brushes my cheek. "You're cute, but I don't need the best. My Marshalls stuff works just fine."

My lip curls of its own accord. "That's not funny, Bella."

She physically turns my frown into a smile. "How about I agree to let you buy me nice things if you agree to keep your mouth shut about the selections _I_ make."

Though I really fucking hope she never delivers on her promise to select her own shit, this is the best deal I'm going to get. "Fine," I say petulantly. "You have a deal." I proceed to seal it with a cock-hardening kiss.

When I pull away, she's dazed and confused—just how I like her—and I slip the bra straps over her hands and up her arms. Leaning closer and trailing my lips across her bare shoulder, I reach behind her and clasp the closure. I nibble on her collarbone before leaning back to take in the masterpiece that is her tits in fine fabric.

It only makes my cock harder.

She bites her lip as I take a step back, and her eyes trail down my chest and to the bulge behind the thin material. There's a hunger in her eye that's hard to ignore, but I do so in favor of how much sweeter it'll be later _if_ she can stomach the real me.

Using my body to make sure nosy Jessica doesn't see the goods, I slip the underwear onto her feet and up her never-ending legs. By the time I reach the top of her thighs, her eyes have fallen closed, and her breaths are shallow from the fire my fingers have scorched along her skin.

I step between her thighs again and place my lips to her ear. "Up, solare," I whisper, my voice a quiet command.

She anchors her hands on my shoulders and lifts just enough for me to slip the soft, silky panties into place. I trace along the waistband, smoothing over it with the lightest of touches. One of my hands travels upward, anchoring around her nape, while the other runs across her hip bone and down to her warm pussy.

A soft sigh escapes, and I use the opportunity to tug her close and force my tongue into her mouth. In tune with my finger's movements, I stroke the inside of her mouth just as fucking thoroughly. It's heated and passionate and never ever e-fucking-nough, but it's also an assurance of how much more I have to offer her.

When I break away, it's by taking two abrupt steps backward, severing contact completely. I smirk as I adjust myself and tilt my head in the general vicinity of where Jessica has disappeared. "Get dressed, solare," I say softly. "We have somewhere to be."

As I turn to walk away, she stops me. "Do you have any suggestions?" She gestures to the rack filled to the brim with clothes.

"Wear something dark and comfortable," I respond, giving her a wink. "Take your time; I have business to take care of first." I palm my cock and grin as I turn away.

I whistle to myself for the first time in … fucking ever, as I strut down the hallway and into the bedroom. Selecting one of my custom-made Dior suits, I continue whistling as I hang it on the rack in the en-suite and start the shower. As soon as steam fills the space, I slip the robe from my shoulders and step inside, my hand reaching for my aching cock.

After a good amount of time dirtying myself even more, I start concentrating on cleaning up. It's probably the most relaxing shower I've had in … I can't even remember. I've been walking a tightrope lately, both personally and professionally, and for the first time, I don't feel like I'm going to fall.

I'm balanced.

Bella balances me, but will she keep me?

By the time I've shaved, dried and styled my hair, dressed and am slipping into my shoes, Bella wanders into the bedroom dressed to kill. Wait, back the fuck up. No, she's not killing anyone, but she sure looks the goddamn part. The black pantsuit fits her as if it's custom-made, and the splash of fuchsia from her silken shirt sits beautifully against her ivory skin.

I let out a low whistle. "Jesus, Bella, you may just be too fucking pretty for my plans."

"What?" she asks, waving a hand. "This old thing?"

I lean up and smile like the slick motherfucker I am, motioning her over. My hands grip her thighs and smooth over her curves to rest on her hips. "You like it, then?" I ask, secretly dying for her to admit it.

She shrugs. "Who knew a boring, black pantsuit could look or feel so good?"

I chuckle, as I guess it's the best I can hope for. "I did."

"Maybe I won't toss the stuff after all," she says, straddling my knees and taking a seat. "Do I look the part?"

The playful atmosphere dies almost instantly, and I brush her hair behind her ear so I can cup her jaw. "Exactly the opposite, if I'm being honest. You're too fucking beautiful and too fucking good, but I'm also too fucking stingy to let you go. It's all or nothing now, solare. The monster is committed to his crimes."

"Will I be in danger?" I'm not surewhat I thought her response would be, but that one was not on the fucking radar.

"No," I say fiercely. "I'd never knowingly put you in danger. Your life means more to me than my own, but I won't hide. When we re-enter this penthouse, you'll have a full grasp of the lengths I'm willing to go."

Her brows furrow. "For what?"

"For the Outfit. To protect our interests. To get ahead in the looming war. For … you. It's all a part of me, Bella. It's who I am. It can't change because I've discovered this whole other half of me." I pause and press a firm kiss to her perfect lips, so she understands exactly what I mean. "If anything, it makes me more determined."

"Edward, I know you do unsavory things," she says, shaking her head.

"Shh," I say, placing a finger across her lips. "The fact that you used the word unsavory to describe murder is a promising sign for me." I pause and smirk at her eye-roll. "Be warned, Bella, what you see will be way more than unsavory. This won't be a situation where we're in a fight for our lives. This will be cold and calculating and cruel, and you may hate me when it's over."

"I don't think that's possible," she replies, her arms anchoring around my neck. "I was there firsthand for the attack. I know what you're up against. I know there are things you _must_ do to protect yourself."

She doesn't give me time to respond, instead choosing to crush her lips against mine in a kiss that can only be payback for my earlier stunt. Her nails scratch against my scalp, and her tongue invades every crevice inside my mouth, making me too weak to do anything but return her ferocity. It's only when she slides closer and brushes against my cock when I realize how out of control it's getting.

I grip her hips tightly and move her back, disconnecting our lips. Our faces are still close as we both work to overcome the passion that sizzles between us. "Gesu Cristo," I groan.

Her fingernails scrape my scalp. "Don't."

I snort, and we both break into an uncomfortable laugh. "Got it," I say, moving to assist her as she stands. "Are you ready?"

She smooths her hands down the front of her jacket and takes a deep breath. "I'm ready if you are."

I take my own fucking deep breath, because fuck! I can already feel the monster lingering on the edges of my conscience and knowing the ball is in his court is a little terrifying. He's a cutthroat, scary motherfucker, and I'm not sure my warning was enough.

"Shall we?"

I take her hand, and we start through the penthouse, turning off most of the lights as we pass. When we enter the kitchen, I'm stunned to see that it's spotless. My jaw gapes as I turn to Bella.

She giggles. "Don't look at me. Jessica insisted she clean it before she left."

I glance between Bella and the kitchen a couple more times. "She's definitely getting a raise."

Bella pinches my side as I throw my arm across her shoulder and lead her to the elevator. Once the doors close, the temperature skyrockets—it always has in here—and there's no doubt we both feel it. Unable to ignore it completely, I step close and pin her against the hard steel.

"Right now isn't the time," I say gruffly, "but if you stay, I'm going to take you up against this very goddamn wall." I scrape my teeth along her neck. "That's a fucking promise."

Stepping back to my side, neither of us say—or do—anything more, but it still lingers. Is it a promise strong enough to make her look the other way? To think you know and to actually witness are two different things. Bella doesn't have a goddamn clue what I'm truly capable of.

Seth and Garrett are ready with the Range Rover by the time we make it to the garage. They are my security and will accompany me everywhere, but that doesn't mean my business is their business.

"No gadgets." I point to Garrett. "If I catch you spying on me, ever, our relationship will end. If you're stupid enough to wonder what I mean by that, then you deserve what you get."

He holds up his hands. "Got it, Boss." He removes his techy belt and hands it to one of the other guys. "Weapons?" he questions, motioning to the gun on his hip.

"Always," I bark. "You'll stay outside and keep watch."

With a nod, Garrett moves to open the back door of the black SUV. I help Bella in before climbing in behind her. The ride starts with us close together, but as we leave the tall buildings behind and head toward the darker, more sinister parts of Chicago, the monster starts rattling around, stretching his muscles, which causes tension to build within me.

I slowly straighten and ball my hands into fists against the leather interior. Bella notices, but a stern glare is all it takes for her to realize that now isn't the time. I breathe deeply, embracing the building rage; the fuel that drives the monster. By the time we pull into the lot of the abandoned brick building, my adrenaline is pumping, and business is on my mind.

But I don't forget Bella, not even in this state. I don't want to talk to her, but I also want to make sure she's safe as we enter the crumbling structure and work our way to the basement. I release her as soon as we step off the bottom stair and motion Aro and Caius over.

Both men approach, and there are several others gathered around the room. "Aro, I want you to take a man upstairs and keep an eye on the security. They're new, so I don't fully trust them yet."

"Aww, Boss," he whines. "Now I gotta miss the action."

My teeth grind together as I remember exactly why I'm starting to like Caius much better than this fucking cafone. I grip his nape and pull him closer. "Just be thankful it isn't you seated in that chair."

When I release him, he's smart enough to keep his fucking trap shut. He motions to one of the soldiers present, and the two disappear up the stairs.

My focus turns to Caius. "Take her to her seat, and make sure she stays there." He grabs her arm a little too roughly, so I reach over and grip his wrist in a punishing hold. "If you hurt one hair on her head, I'll snap your fucking neck."

"Yes, Boss," he says, giving me a firm nod. "Sorry." He looks from me to Bella.

"What are you doing, Edward?" Bella asks as he softly tries to urge her to the far side of the room. "Why are we here?"

A light flips on in the center of the room, highlighting a lone figure seated in a cold, metal chair. Her hands are bound behind her back, and her feet are tied to the legs. A blindfold covers her eyes, yet her head moves in an attempt to pinpoint the tiniest of sounds.

"Hello," she calls. "Who's there?"

Bella's eyes widen when she realizes exactly who it is. "No, Edward," she says, shaking her head. "You can't be serious."

"I am." My eyes harden under her panicked gaze, and I flick them to Caius. "Take Bella to her ringside seat."

* * *

 **I've already started the next one, so maybe, possibly sooner next time? Don't hold your breath, but I will do my best.**

 **See you soon :)**


	28. This Is Who I Am

**Thanks to Fran for all her hard work and 2browneyes, Ninkita and Sunshine for reading this for me** **:)**

* * *

 **Gore rating—Ughhh, you tell me. Prepare yourself! And then give me your number in a review ;) Gory without the gore?**

I watch shrewdly as Caius leads Bella away from the light to an old iron bench that's covered in rust. Though she looks uneasy, she remains compliant as he settles into the seat beside her. A brief sadness flickers through me as I recognize her suit will need to be trashed, but my resources are endless and replacing it will be a piece of cake.

 _If_ she stays.

Once the woman who means everything to me is settled into the dark corner, I switch my focus to the woman whose possible actions have brought about the necessity of today's interrogation. The monster snarls and snaps, propelling me toward her. The only audible sound is my shoes grinding dirt into the concrete with each measured step I take.

Her head perks up, her ears straining to identify the sound, and the monster chuckles sinisterly. He's practically salivating because even as she sits blindfolded and tied to a chair, her composure is screaming superiority.

What a fucking fool.

"I can hear you," she says, her head shifting in my direction. "I assume you've already realized your mistake."

I contain my snort and pace a spot several feet in front of her, my silence forcing her to reconsider her assessment. She's an intelligent woman, extremely intelligent, so there's no way she doesn't realize she's in a fucked up position. The prickles of fear are creeping down her spine. As they should. There's not a likely circumstance where she leaves here alive—guilt or innocence aside.

"I have money," she blurts, straining her arms against the binds. "Lots of it."

As her panic rises, the monster psyches me up, sending a rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins. I remove my suit jacket and toss it to the closest soldier, rolling up my shirt sleeves. The entire time, I keep my eyes on her.

She's dressed in a white, overly sexy version of a business skirt and blazer. Seated in this unfortunate position, I can see the lace of her red underwear. The same shade as the lipstick that adorns her collagen-enhanced lips. Her long brown hair is twisted into a tight bun that sits at the top of her neck, and her white Manolo Blahnik heels stand out against the dirty floor.

I briefly wonder if Bella would like a pair, but then I remember. She's here, and she's watching this. _"But nothing's happened. I can grab her and leave. She never has to know,"_ the part of my mind that's afraid of losing her screams.

But the monster roars, squashing the thoughts before they can fester. He's embraced my love for Bella, allowed it to blossom into something beautiful, which makes him more resolute in his determination to protect it—us. Yet on top of that, he wants to know she sees him and realizes he's here to fucking stay. He needs to know that she accepts him, too.

The silence spurs the captive into action, and she wiggles restlessly against the restraints, her confusion and fear leaking through the cracks. "I know people," she says desperately, her head swiveling, unsure of my exact location. "Dangerous people."

My interest is piqued almost to the point of incredulity. I'm the most dangerous motherfucker she knows, and I wouldn't piss on her if she were on fire in broad daylight. Though I have to give her credit, this fucking bluff might've worked if she weren't seated before the very man she's referencing.

I move closer, circling behind her and leaning down so my lips are near her ear. "How dangerous?" I whisper, making sure to disguise my voice.

She tenses when she realizes how close I am, but she shakes it off and lifts her chin. "People who would kill to keep me safe." She turns her head to the side as if to address me specifically. "You'll never find peace if something happens to me. He will hunt you down and murder your whole family."

Her deception is good, surprising even, but it only fuels the monster by confirming his suspicions—she knows a hell of a lot more than she should. "Say his name," I whisper-growl.

Her whole demeanor shifts. The brave front disappears as the moment of recognition rockets through her. Her entire form crumples in on itself. "Edward?" she asks, her voice trembling. "No." She's horrified by the very idea, yet deep down she knows it's true. "Please, no." Her chin drops to her chest, defeated.

I lift my hand and flick my fingers, instructing the two silent soldiers nearby to move the table of tools closer. The scraping of the legs against the concrete causes her to jerk upright, and I use the moment to push the blindfold away from her eyes and down around her neck. Yet before she can acclimate herself to her surroundings, I have it twisted tight in my grasp, cutting off her air supply.

As she struggles, I lean my face close to hers. "Nice to see you again, Angela."

Her mouth is opening and closing as she gasps for air, but for one beautiful second, she pauses as she stares into my eyes. The fear I see reflected in them is like gas being thrown onto an open flame; it ignites the monster's rage, reminding me again why it's imperative that he remain. This is his domain, and he rules it with ironclad ruthlessness.

As her eyes become heavy, I release my hold and take a brisk step back. "Not just yet. I need answers." She coughs as she sucks in large gasps of air, and the monster revels in her discomfort. I lean down so she has no choice but to stop the antics and meet my glare. "Why would you threaten a would-be captor with _my_ name?"

When she just stares at me with an admittedly horrified look, I stand and move to the table. Selecting a pair of clippers, I position myself behind her. Though she watches me carefully, she still doesn't open her fucking mouth—not even when the motor hums to life.

Anchoring one of my hands on the top of her head, I lean in, my lips almost touching her ear. "I know you, Angela, which makes me more dangerous than you ever imagined. I will systematically strip you of everything. Starting with your vanity."

She begins to struggle as soon as the buzzer touches the side of her head, but she's way too fucking late. "No. Stop it!" she screams as I shear off large chunks of hair, only to watch them fall backward and hang from her tidy little bun. "You know this town, Edward. Everyone knows! We all know who you are!"

I pause with wide, bald strips running across the top of her head. "Who am I, Angela?"

She's breathing heavily from her panic over losing her hair, but she calms quickly and composes herself. Angela is a fucking genius, and it's something the monster won't allow me to forget. She has the intelligence to make this game interesting, if she can get her shit together, which is why her fate is sealed no matter the outcome.

"Edward Cullen," she says hesitantly, turning her head to meet my patient gaze. "Son of mob boss Carlisle Cullen, heir to the Chicago Outfit."

I turn the trimmer back on, satisfied with her clear and concise answer, and grip her nape, bending her head forward, pushing past her feeble resistance. "Who do you work for?" I ask calmly as I press the shears firmly against her scalp in an effort to remove the whole bun.

She lets out an ear-piercing scream, but it's tempered by the constant buzz of my chosen tool. After making several deep gouges toward the bun, I release her head and pull the offending chunk of hair far enough away where the blades can sever the remaining tendrils that still hold it in place. Though she still has much hair remaining, I'm happy enough with the results that I move toward the table and toss the clippers aside.

As I take my place back before her, I lock my hands behind my back and wait as patiently as I can for her to realize the opportunity I'm presenting. Speak now and lessen her punishment.

After several minutes, she lifts her head, big fat tears shimmering in her eyes. "Why are you doing this?" she blubbers, shaking her head. "Why am I here?"

"Who. Do. You. Work. For?" I ask again, reminding her that I'm patiently awaiting an answer to my previous question.

"Grizzly Armor?" she says, but it feels like a question.

"Are you asking or telling me?" My tone is sharp, as it's the wrong answer either way. She says nothing else, so I start to pace in front of her. "I'm aware of your position with Grizzly, but what I'm interested in is who you've shared Outfit information with outside of the company."

She starts shaking her head frantically, her eyes betraying her. "It's not like that. I've never shared any information with anyone."

I pause, my gaze snapping to hers. "So you don't deny that you're aware of Grizzly's role in situations related to Outfit business?"

Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly, but I notice that shit, and she gets ahold of herself immediately. "Do you take me for a fool? Of course, I know. It didn't take a genius to piece it together after having been privy to the closeness you and Emmett share."

And if by some miracle her fate wasn't already sealed, it is now. Angela Webber will never leave this building alive. "Exactly how much _do_ you know?" I ask, my eyes narrowing to take in her every twitch.

She immediately looks away, suddenly interested in her dingy surroundings. "Not much," she says, her voice wavering. "It's really none of my business."

I take in her closed posture and shaky tone, declaring her a liar on the spot, yet instead of responding with force, I respond with a calculated approach. Moving toward the table, I select a small pair of Vice-Grip pliers. Casually, I slip them into my pants pocket and retrieve a small pocketknife at the same time. Moving behind her, I flip open the blade and run it across the top of her hand before sliding it beneath the zip tie and slicing it in two.

Her shaky hands jerk free. "Thank you," she mumbles as she brings her hands around and buries her face in them as misdirected relief floods her. She collects herself and lifts her face, sliding her hands upward with the intent to smooth her hair—only it's a misshapen mess of bald streaks and long scraggly strands.

Her jaw drops and her eyes widen as pure horror overtakes her. The monster saves a snapshot of the moment to reflect on later as he propels me forward, cold calculation his only motive.

I reach out and brush my fingers along her jaw on my way to cupping her chin. "Shhh," I murmur, offering her a false sense of security. I softly tilt her head from side to side. "Let me take care of this for you. I'll be gentle. I promise." My voice is soft, and my smile is genuine, though not for the reason she thinks.

Her dazed nod gives me permission I don't need to step over and grab the clippers again. Positioning myself behind her, I gently brush my hand over the fucking mess atop her head. She stares forward, as if in a trance, while I tenderly remove every remaining strand of hair from her scalp.

When I am done, I smooth my hand over her exceptionally round head. "There we are. Would you like to see?"

I don't await a response, instead choosing to move to the table. Returning the shears, I select a handheld mirror and turn back to Angela. Silent tears are streaming down her cheeks as she rubs her right hand against her bald head.

As I move toward her, she meets my passive gaze. "What am I going to tell people?" she asks, swiping at the tears on her cheeks. "Oh, a wig! Do you think it's possible for you to get me one?" Her shit brown eyes are hopeful, and I may even feel a teensy bit bad for her, but it's not enough to derail my intentions.

I snap my eyes to a nearby soldier. "Get me a chair!" While I wait, I hold the mirror out so that she can view the full effect. Visuals are always a plus when attempting to fuck with someone's head. "See, not so bad, eh?"

Slowly her eyes flick from me to the image of herself, and she gasps. She sees an overly spray-tanned woman with a very white, bald scalp and splotchy black streaks covering both of her cheeks.

The monster takes another snapshot.

A small rolling stool is brought over, and I pass the mirror to the soldier while pulling the Vice-Grips from my pocket. Taking a seat, I roll closer to Angela with a bright smile. "Now, where were we?"

Her brows—which I forgot to shave—draw together in the center of her forehead. They look neat and trim but very off as they appear as two dark, out of place arches near her white bald head.

She motions to the floor where her feet are still tightly anchored to the legs of her chair. "I believe you were going to release me."

Starting at her shoulder, I trail my fingers down the arm of her suit jacket and take her limp hand. My chuckle is sinister and foreboding, but my touch belies the sound. "I do believe we've had a miscommunication," I say, bringing the Vice-Grips closer and clamping the jaws onto the white tip of her French manicure. She resists, but it does her no fucking good, as my hold is unwavering. "I need you to tell me exactly what you know and who you've shared that information with."

Her mouth opens, but she pauses. Big fucking mistake. I rock the pliers back and forth once before eliciting a sharp twist that's followed by a small pop as the artificial nail is snatched from her fingertip.

She gasps and withdraws her hand—because I fucking let it go—and holds it tightly to her. "What are you doing, Edward." Her tone is panicked. "I've already answered your questions."

I give her a bored stare as I yank her hand back over and attach the pliers to the next nail. "I want the truth."

Twist. Snatch. Pop. Gasp.

I don't release her this time as I simply disengage the lock and open the jaws, watching her nail flutter to the floor, before attaching it to the next tip. "Nothing to say for yourself?" I ask, pausing to meet her eyes.

She glances at our hands and back to my eyes but says nothing. My jaw clenches as I snap the next one off with no effort to loosen it first. It produces a sickening sound and blood rushes beneath her nail.

"I told you!" she screams, fighting to draw her hand to her chest, but I refuse to budge, instead holding tighter and snapping the next one off even quicker. "Stop, please. I'll tell you, just stop!"

I release her hand and allow her a moment to breathe as I roll over in the other direction. Gripping the opposite hand and holding it in an iron grasp, I attach the pliers to the first nail of my brand new canvas. "Good, let's talk," I say, pleased with her possible compliance. "First, why don't you tell me what you know? When did you make the connection?"

Once again, her eyes fall away from my gaze, and I fucking sigh, snapping off the first nail and moving the jaws to the next. "The truth, Angela."

When she looks back, her eyes are sparking with a defiant fire. "Are you sure you want that answer, Edward?" I nod once, and she snorts, leaning forward to speak. "It was your trip to Mexico. Right after you blew me off over some skanky dancer at Midnight Sun." She sits back with a pleased smirk.

I snap the next nail with intentional cruelty, causing a squeal to erupt from within her. "Watch yourself," I warn my voice low and deadly. "That dancer could end your life with a single word."

"Still slumming it then?" she asks, having no self-preservation whatsoever. She even laughs off my words. "It's not like you'd actually kill me anyway."

I join her in her laughter, lightly at first, but as I trail off, the darkness seeps in, and I lean forward as if to share a secret. "That's where you're wrong," I whisper, dropping her hand. "I have no intention of letting you live."

Her face whitens to match her head. "No." It's a strangled, choked gasp as she realizes how fucked she truly is. "You wouldn't."

"I would. I _am_ , but there are things I need to know first," I say, rolling toward the table to peruse the available tools. Selecting my next toy, I leave the stool and stand, circling her menacingly as she futilely struggles. "So Mexico," I say, tapping the tool against my palm. "What did you learn about that mission?"

"No-noth—"

I interrupt her answer with a shock from my stun gun to the tender skin at the back of her neck. "You've already admitted it. Don't be fucking stupid."

"The connection," she screams through heavy breaths as she tries to overcome the shock. "All I learned were the names. Carl and Anthony."

"Much better." I pace around to stand before her. "So from that point forward, you knew activity related to those names was Outfit related."

"Yes, but please, I swear, Edward, I'd never tell a soul," she says, rushing to plead her case. "I was angry about the brush off and nosed a little too deep, but I'm not now; I don't even care. I'll never tell a soul, just please, let me go." It falls on deaf ears.

"And Miami?" I ask, ignoring the whole fucking diatribe. "You arranged the backup vehicles and last-minute flight out. How am I supposed to believe you didn't play a part in the ambush that followed?"

"Ambush?" she asks, playing dumb, which has never been her strong suit. She's always worn her intelligence like a weapon.

I shock her again. This time in the center of her chest and for a good ten seconds. I barely give her time to recover before doing it again. I'm tired of this fucking game. It's not as fun once your target knows they're going to die. All I need is her fucking contact name, and I can put her out of her misery.

"You also arranged the medical personnel that collected my men when we landed in Chicago," I say, lifting a challenging brow. "This tells me you fucking _knew_ something went down, so don't play stupid."

"You're right," she says, her voice shaky. "Emmett instructed me to contact the company, and I did think something was wrong, but I had no idea there was an ambush."

"So you expect me to believe," I say, pacing and thinking, "that you knew all this incriminating information, and you were admittedly angry at me when you started collecting it, yet you didn't look for a way to enact any fucking payback. That you didn't contact my enemies and assist them in a plot to take me down?"

She hesitates, and I shock her again for a good thirty fucking seconds. "Answer me!" I snap when I release the trigger, killing the flow of electricity into her body. "And don't fucking lie!"

"I-I …" she stutters, pissing me off even more.

I shock her again, just a quick one to knock some fucking sense back into her. "Try again," I demand.

"I kept a diary," she says, her head lolling to the side.

The monster snarls and snaps, urging me to wrap my hands around her neck and choke the life from her. I slam the stun gun to the floor, breaking it into pieces. Stalking forward, I reach out and grip the blindfold that's still hanging around her neck, tightening it just enough where it only allows small gusts of air to pass. Her almost nail-less claws grab desperately at my hand and arm.

"You did what?" I growl, leaning down to force her terrified eyes to gaze into my murderous ones.

"A diary," she rasps, using the small bit of air I'm allowing her. I lessen the pressure at her willingness to talk. "Handwritten. It's at my loft."

The monster rebels, and I cut off her air completely. "You expect me to believe the queen of technology is keeping handwritten records!" I rage, twisting it even tighter. "Do I look fucking stupid?"

She struggles, her mouth opening and closing like a fucking fish, and I smirk at the sight. " _Don't kill her just yet_ ," the monster whispers.

I release her, taking a step back to collect myself. As I pace, my two sides war with each other. Edward Cullen is ready to end this shit, while the monster is enjoying his game, arguing for a long, torturous session.

"I swear," she says, gaining my attention. She's panting heavily as she lifts her weary head to meet my gaze. "A digital file can never be protected enough. There's always a trace, a hidden copy, some way to reproduce the information." Her voice is scratchy, so she pauses, her hands rubbing at her parched throat. "Since I wasn't sure of my intentions when I started, I kept it in the most basic, unassuming format. Please, Edward, I swear, your secret is safe with me. Please." Tears fall from her hopeless eyes as she begs for me to spare her.

There's a small sliver inside me that _almost_ wishes I could, but the other ninety-nine percent of me is screaming that it's all a lie. A well thought out lie, but a lie nonetheless. _Someone's_ in touch with Miami, and she's admitted to having the information.

" _Just a bit more and she'll spill,"_ the monster whispers, pushing my feet to move back in her direction.

I reach out and grasp her chin, gently brushing along her jaw with my thumb. "What a mess you are," I say softly, squatting in front of her. "All I asked for was the truth."

Her head wobbles as if in a nod of agreement, tears streaking down her cheeks. "I told the truth," she says with a sniffle.

Moving my fingers down, I trace over her neck in a soothing touch before violently fisting the blindfold "The whole truth?" I ask, keeping the same soft tone in my voice. "Because I can't be sure. I can never be sure."

She lets out a squeak just as the bind tightens enough to take her breath. I hold it until her lids begin to fall closed and reopen slowly, her eyes vacant. When I release, I brush my fingers against her cheek. "Angela," I say softly. When she perks up, I smile. "There you are. This is very important; did you tell me the whole truth?"

She bobs her head, but I can't be certain she's even comprehending my words. The monster urges me to try another tactic, select another tool, yet I waver, unsure how far I'm willing to take this to showcase his existence.

But the decision is snatched away when a commotion comes from the left. Before I can fully comprehend what has happened, two silenced 9mm bullets ricochet off the bricks above me.

The next ten seconds move in slow motion.

Just as I realize what the fuck is happening, the soldier on my right steps forward, his gun aimed. He must've missed the fucking memo. Reaching behind my back, I withdraw my H&K Compact 9mm and send a single bullet flying, hitting him in the center of his forehead.

He falls instantly.

Angela starts screaming and bucking wildly, as if she's just now realized her predicament, but I ignore her and face the bigger threat.

Where light meets dark, a guilty, unsure Caius is standing just behind Bella while she has _his_ gun trained on Angela. "I've seen enough. End this now, or I will."

The clatter of the metal chair falling to the concrete breaks the stare down between Bella and me. I look down to find Angela on all fours, her feet still attached to the legs, her frightened eyes pleading. Lifting my foot, I push against her chest, prodding her to rise to her knees. Her hands link together as if in prayer, and her eyes squint tightly shut. I lift my gun and press it against the center of her forehead.

My apathetic gaze falls on Bella as I pull the trigger.

* * *

 **I had to take a break after finishing this one because this Edward is so freaking hard to write, especially this chapter. My plan was to start the next one today, but I'm not sure if I will, as I've received some sad news. So instead, here it is, and I'll get the next one to you no later than two weeks from yesterday.**

 **Hug your loved ones!**

 **Give me your gore rating :)**


	29. Space

**Y'all need to thank Fran for her super skills. This chapter wouldn't be posted today without her. 2browneyes, Sunshine and Ninkita are also kind enough to catch my plot holes :)**

* * *

 **Gore rating—2**

Bella visibly flinches and shoves Caius' gun into his chest as she draws in on herself, turning away from the violent scene. Angela's body flies backward from the force of the bullet and collides with the metal chair before flopping to the side, lifeless against the dingy concrete. Blood spatter covers my right arm and dots the front of my white button-up.

The monster pauses and inhales the scent of death before I force him back into his cage. I remove the button-up and step to the table, taking advantage of the bucket of soapy water provided just for this purpose. Methodically, I scrub my hands and arms with the small brush, removing all traces of blood and gunshot residue from my skin. There is more that needs to be done, but for now, this will suffice until I am at a safer location.

After drying my hands and arms, I toss the towel with my shirt and motion for the soldier to return my jacket. Slipping it on over my white tee, I straighten it and turn toward Bella and Caius. Neither has moved a muscle. Bella is turned to the side, her face buried in her hands as her shoulders shake, and Caius holds his gun, warily glancing between us.

I flick my fingers to my fucking Capo. Though I can see the uncertainty in his eyes, he approaches me with a quiet confidence. "You made the right choice," I say, giving him a nod. "Though securing your weapon better would've been ideal."

He nods once. "Sorry, Boss. I underestimated your better half." His eyes flick to the lifeless soldier on the other side of the table. "That's Hunter's brother. He only officially became a soldier last month, so he missed your directive."

My mind churns for only a second before I come up with the connection. "James?" I smirk, thinking of the smarmy fucker's reaction. "Bring him in under the guise of getting rid of the body and ice him after he learns what happened."

"Jesus, Boss," he mumbles, shaking his head. "You're in rare form tonight."

My eyes flick to movement behind Caius, and I take a deep breath and expel it with a nod. "The night is still young." I step closer so no one else can eavesdrop. "I'm entrusting you, personally, to take care of this scene. I want all three bodies incinerated, the tools completely destroyed and this basement left as decrepit as it was before we got here. Got me?"

"Will do, Boss." He steps away and gives his soldier orders.

I slip my phone from my pocket and shoot Aro a text before straightening my shoulders and approaching Bella, who has retreated to the bench she occupied during my interrogation. Standing there silently, I wait for her to acknowledge me, and when she doesn't, I clear my fucking throat. "Bella."

She flinches at the sound of my hard voice but otherwise makes no effort to engage. "I understand you're angry, upset or possibly even disgusted with me right now, and that's okay. I expected it." I pause, considering my next words. "I can't plan a future with a woman who doesn't know me. Now you do, and the ball's in your court."

"Yo, Boss," the fucking idiot, Aro, yells as he comes down the stairs. "What'cha need?"

I roll my eyes and turn, awaiting his approach. As soon as he's within arm's reach, I smack him upside the fucking head. "Get some goddamn respect!" The blow isn't very hard but coupled with my slightly raised, icy tone, he immediately turns serious.

"Good. Now I need you for a very important mission. The absolute most important. Bella will need a ride back to Cullen Place. She will also need to be escorted to the penthouse."

For the first time since Angela's murder, Bella finally shows a response. "What the fuck, Edward!" she exclaims as she stands and squares her shoulders for a face off. "You drag me here, force me to witness your sick attempt to extract answers, and now you're what, going to hold me fucking prisoner?" I grab her arm on instinct, and she snatches away. "Do not fucking touch me."

Holding up my hands, I say, "Understood." But I still take a step closer, so our eye contact is clear in the dim lighting. "I'm not fucking holding you prisoner. This is me giving you time to think. I'll see you in a little while, and until then, you'll stay at the penthouse."

Her eyes are red and puffy as she averts them, but her stance softens. "Fine," she utters lowly, refusing to hold my gaze. "I need some space anyway."

She turns sharply, straight toward where Caius is wrapping Angela's body in a cotton sheet. She winces, averting her eyes and marching a longer route toward the stairs to avoid the whole mess as much as possible.

Aro and I both watch her go, but as she reaches the bottom step, I snap from my Bella-induced haze and give Aro a shove. "What the fuck you waiting for? Have Seth and Garrett transport the two of you and leave me your keys."

He digs into his pocket as he walks backward and tosses me the keys before hurrying to catch up with Bella. I push down the extra adrenaline coursing through me with a heavy sigh and slip the keys into my pocket, retrieving my cell. Shooting Emmett a text, I instruct him to make sure Bella stays in the penthouse after her arrival.

As my kill high recedes, the gravity of today settles like a giant weight on my chest. It isn't Angela's death that bothers me, especially since I'm pretty fucking positive she wasn't a threat to the Outfit or to me. It's the fact that I'm not bothered by her death or that I forced Bella to watch. That's some fucked up shit I should be ashamed of, but my need to know shines brighter than it all.

I tortured and killed a woman to satisfy my own sick agenda.

And I fucking reveled in it.

Bella didn't, though. Not at all. I pushed her to the brink and then quite possibly shoved her over the edge. But a man needs to be sure, and now I can be. If she stays, she stays knowing exactly how fucked I can be. How much I enjoy every facet of the sadistic motherfucker that I am.

The prospect that she won't rattles around the edges of my psyche, but every time it tries to take center stage, I pause and embrace the kill. I remember the shock when Angela realized I was her capturer, the hope for those few minutes she thought I'd let her live, the terror when she realized it was all a carefully crafted façade. I inhale the scent of death that still lingers in the air.

I'm brought from my thoughts as another man rushes down the stairs. "Hey, Caius, I'm here. Where you at?"

Chills race over my skin as I slink back into the darkness and watch the exchange with utter glee. Thinking I'd be long gone before his arrival, this is a perk I hadn't expected. I smile widely, giddiness rushing through me as his steps slow the closer he gets to Caius.

I should probably worry about the number of my ranks or the general idea that murdering your own crew isn't the best practice, but this fuck's days were already numbered. It's unfortunate his brother had to die for aiming at Bella, but it is what it is. I can't have a rogue soldier who might want revenge in my ranks.

Angela is wrapped tightly in plastic with a white sheet over that, while little brother is lying face-up, eyes wide in death. As James comes to a stop beside him, Caius motions to the body. "We had an incident tonight."

"Laurent!" he says as he gets down on the floor beside him. "How? How did this happen?" James spears Caius with an angry glare as he closes his younger brother's eyes.

Caius shrugs like it's no big deal. "Laurent made a mistake, and he paid with his life."

James stands and gets in Caius' face. "What kind of fucking mistake could he have possibly committed?"

I take three steps forward, the light washing over my form. They both notice my appearance, but it's James who steps around the grim reaper to address me. "You did this?" he asks, and there's an edge to his voice.

I chuckle low and dark. "Laurent, was it? He made a fatal mistake, something similar to your current disrespectful tone."

James' eyes narrow, yet he smartly keeps his lips closed. It doesn't matter, though. It never fucking mattered. He was called here to die. As he silently works through his next move, Caius produces a strip of wire and slips up behind him. It's around James' neck with his air cut off before the man can even begin to struggle. The precision with which Caius applies the technique has James unconscious within seconds and dead only a few minutes later.

I nod once, pleased with this less messy route. "Finish getting this done and take the bodies to the incinerator at Cullen Place. Aro should be hanging around the garage to help."

"What about the diary, Boss?" he asks, and I smile at his eagerness to make sure all the Is are dotted and the Ts are crossed.

"I'll hit up Marcus for that," I reply, pulling Aro's keys from my pocket and motioning around us. "Make sure this scene is pristine."

"Got it."

I head up the stairs and into the dark night. There's a van, Caius' Mercedes and another car parked on the edge of the property behind a beat up wooden fence. The closer I get, the more I realize how fucking stupid I must be. Aro's ride is a 70's model primer-gray Camaro with patches of rust eating through the metal. I'm even more fucking disgusted when I open the door. A gum wrapper falls to the ground as litter fills the back floorboard. The interior is red leather, but you can barely tell with the springs and burnt orange foam bursting through the cracks.

I think I'm going to be sick.

But on the other hand, this is probably what I deserve.

Taking a deep breath, I open the door and slide behind the wheel, squinting my eyes tightly shut for a few seconds to prepare myself. It does me no fucking good. I visibly cringe as I stick the key in the ignition. The car roars to life with a loud grumble and smoke wafts up around me—both inside the car and out.

Fucking Christ!

Pretending I'm in my Porsche, I leave the neighborhood behind and make my way toward the burbs. During the ride, I make a couple of phone calls—Marcus and Emmett. The former gets his instructions on where to obtain the diary, and the latter gets his instructions on how he can help, starting with security in Angela's building and ending with making sure to inquire about her no call/no show absence at work two days straight. That should make someone curious enough to check on her. Of course, she'll never be found.

 _It'll be as if she never existed_.

The house is dark, aside from a lone window upstairs, as the car rumbles up the driveway, disrupting the quiet night. I take advantage of the circular drive and pull directly to the door, cutting the ignition and being infused with one more round of cough-inducing smoke.

I'm sputtering as I leave the piece of shit car behind and make my way to the door, which opens before I can ring the bell. "Edward?" Jasper says, lifting a brow and looking past me to the junker in his drive. He lets out a little chuckle. "Definitely not who I expected to emerge from that."

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, fucker," I say, moving inside so he can close the door. "How's she doing?" My eyes trail to the stairs as the need to flee up them two at a time overwhelms me.

"She's not," he says with a sigh. "The nurse said she has from hours to maybe a day or two, but that's it. Her vitals are weakening and the only reaction we get when we lessen the pain meds are grunts as she breathes."

I take off up the stairs, desperate to see her one last time. But when I get to the room, I'm reminded that it isn't even her. The body lying on that bed is a prison to a soul that's ready to be free.

Tears sting my eyes, but a calmness moves over me as Jasper enters and motions for me to pull a chair beside him. He sits quietly and retrieves a book from the nightstand. For the next hour, I sit and listen to Jasper read _The Godfather_ to his wife. She's read that book more times than I can count, and I've usually teased her for it, yet it seems perfectly fitting for those same passages to accompany her into whatever's next.

As he closes the book and places it on the nightstand, Jasper asks, "Been working tonight?" He motions to my suit, sans button-up. It's definitely not my style to wear only a white T-shirt under my jacket.

"Yeah, I had some shit to take care of," I reply, standing. "I considered showering here, but Emmett tells me Demetri is home so I'll just stop in there."

"Wanna take my car?" he offers. "Just send whatever yo-yo that crap-mobile belongs to back here to pick it up."

A whiff of unburned gas floats off my clothes at the mention of the piece of shit parked outside. I snort. "Hell, yeah. And it's fucking Aro's." I shrug. "What other idiot would hand me the keys to that and be stupid enough not to mention it?"

"I should've known." He chuckles, but it dies pretty quickly. "Expect to hear from me soon."

The words move through me like a shard of ice, and he has no need to say more. We both know what he means. I grab onto him and pull him in for a tight hug. "I'm sorry," I whisper, clapping his shoulder as I pull away.

He nods and tosses me his keys before retaking his seat.

I spend the drive home in quiet contemplation. So much to deal with and so little time. My possible relationship is teetering on the brink between disaster and perfection. I'm no closer to learning who the mole is than I was this morning, and thinking back to the list, maybe it's time Pop and I have a serious conversation. Miami is preparing for war, and we must be ready to not only defend ourselves but take them out in the process.

Aro comes out as soon as I pull into the garage. "Where's my baby?" He's acting offended like I hurt his feelings—he'll be lucky if that's all I hurt.

"You're lucky I didn't run it into the Chicago River. Piece of fucking shit," I say, tossing Jasper's keys his way. "You can pick it up at Jasper's."

"Cool," he says, looking all starry-eyed and shit. "I get to drive the Ferrari."

I roll my fucking eyes. "Caius been by?"

"Yep, he's come and gone. Everything's taken care of," he replies as he walks around Jasper's car, ogling it.

"One more thing and you're free to go," I say, tilting my head to the elevator. "Let's walk."

Aro and I take the elevator up twelve floors where I have him wait as I slip into Anthony's apartment to retrieve a change of clothes. "What I'm wearing will need to disappear."

"Got it, Boss." He nods, following behind me as I travel around the corner and stop at Demetri's door.

After two raps and a familiar, "Come in," I enter the apartment, thankful as fuck to see my old friend parked in his favorite recliner.

"It's good to see you up and around, old man," I say, throwing my hand out for a quick fist bump. "I'm gonna use your shower real quick, and we'll send Aro on his way. You and I have some catching up to do."

"Sounds good, Boss," Demetri replies, motioning to his couch. "Take a load off, Aro."

My shower is quick but thorough as I diligently scour every inch of my body. Once I'm dressed in Anthony's sub-par clothing, I head to the kitchen to grab a paper bag and then the laundry room for a gallon of bleach. Returning to the bathroom, I bag up everything I was wearing, including my two thousand dollar, Brooks Brothers loafers. Before leaving the bathroom, I empty the entire contents of the bleach into the tub and run the spay on hot for another five minutes.

Walking back into the living room, I pass the paper bag to Aro. "Make those disappear, and you're free to go."

"Will do," he says, standing. "Later, Demetri. Good to see you looking alert again."

"It feels good," Demetri replies as we both watch Aro exit the apartment. "That one's a fucking nut." He shakes his head with a chuckle. "Can I get ya anything?"

"Nah, I'm good. Just glad you're home. What's the word on Riley?" I ask, wondering if he's had the same luck as Demetri. "He gonna be okay, too?"

"As a matter of fact, he is. He'll be coming here tomorrow."

"Here?" I lift a brow.

"Yeah," Demetri says, looking at me like I'm stupid. "Look, the kid could've died helping us; it's the least I can do. Besides, he's gonna need a little help. Not only was his concussion severe, but he also has a nice sprain to his ankle."

I shrug. "Makes sense. I've just never seen you so open with an outsider before."

"In the short time I've known Riley, I've come to trust him," he says, shaking his head. "You know that doesn't come easily for me, but this kid, he's one of the good ones. Loyal."

My lips purse as I consider his take on Riley. He's all right, he did fight like he was one of us, but there must be more I'm not privy to for Demetri to give him this kind of stamp of approval so readily. He's an old-school mobster, and trust is earned through many trials, not handed out like candy.

"No reason to sweat it, Boss," he says, bringing me from my thoughts. "He'll only be as close to the Outfit as you let him. I'm just offering him a place to recuperate, but …" He pauses and looks me over. "Why don't ya go ahead and spill. I can see it written all over ya. What the hell have you done now?"

Fucking hell! This nosy, old-ass man can read me like a book. "I introduced Bella to the monster."

His head drops and his fingers go to his temples. "Please tell me you didn't."

But I do.

I tell him all about my day, leaving out no detail. He watches me the whole time, his expression becoming more incredulous by the second.

When I finally shut the fuck up, he rubs his hand over his face and narrows his eyes. "What the hell are you doing still sitting here if she's up there?"

I avert my eyes from his glare. "Giving her time to think."

"You mean you're afraid of what will happen when you do show up?" he asks quietly.

My jaw tightens. "If it goes bad, then she was never the girl for me."

"Maybe," he says, shaking his head. "Or maybe you were trying to push her away."

"Fuck this shit," I say, standing. "I didn't come here to be judged."

"Then go the fuck home, son."

I don't even spare him another look as I turn and storm out the door, making sure to slam it as I leave. Old fucker. But he's right. I've stayed away for far too fucking long. My feet don't stop their forward progress until I'm safely ensconced inside the elevator.

On the way up, I text Emmett to release the override I asked him to put in place earlier. I'm here now, and she'll be allowed to make her own decision on whether she stays or goes.

The ding when I arrive on my floor, usually a welcoming sound, carries a level of foreboding tonight. I've obtained something I never thought was possible, that I was even capable of, and I did everything I could to kill it today. I pushed boundaries Bella probably thought didn't even exist, yet somewhere deep inside I feel a calmness, something telling me that I have nothing to fear.

And I don't.

If she can't handle the monster, she isn't the woman for me.

When I enter the penthouse, it's mostly dark and quiet. A light reflects from an open door down the hall. Our bedroom. I tread lightly as I make my approach and pause to lean in the doorway.

I watch Bella quietly, my heart thundering.

Silent tears are rolling down her cheeks as she methodically carries a couple of racks of her new clothing into my closet before returning to grab more.

* * *

 **This chapter was incredibly hard to write, and not because of the chapter itself, I just couldn't make myself work on it. These past 2 weeks have been the most unproductive, writing-wise, I've had in I have no idea how long. Hopefully, I can do better next time. As for replies, I think you'd probably rather me write.**

 **In case it isn't clear at this point, last chapter, though all about Angela, was never really about her at all.**

 **See you in 2 weeks :)**


	30. Time

**Fran is the beta who keeps these chapters in shape, and Ninkita, 2browneyes and Sunshine opine on what I've written :)**

* * *

 **Gore rating—0**

Bella is dressed in one of my tees with her damp hair hanging down her back, her face clean and innocent. I stay quiet and still as she makes two more circuits. If she knows I'm here, she doesn't let on in any way. When she enters the closet for the third time, I meander to the foot of the bed and casually take a seat, my eyes on the door. My ears are tuned to her every movement, and I brace as her bare feet pad in my direction.

Her eyes land on mine for only a second before turning her attention back to the mostly empty rack of clothes. She discreetly wipes her cheeks as she plucks the last few hangers before disappearing into the closet once more.

The fact that she's unpacking her things says a lot, but I don't want to be too presumptuous. I have the power to fuck it up royally. One wrong word and it could all come crashing down around me, and yet my resolve to see this through is firm. I won't sugarcoat my actions or lessen my expectations.

This trip lasts longer than the others, but I'm okay with that. Whatever it takes, however long she needs. I remain perched on the bed, silent and still, my eyes trailing to the carpet beneath my feet as I await my judgment.

"You're back." Her small voice breaks through my thoughts, and hearing it makes my heart flutter.

"I am." I bob my head as I lift my eyes to hers. "And you're unpacking?"

She's propped against the closet doorjamb, her arms crossed. "I am."

The flutter turns to a full-on thunderstorm inside my chest. My heart is booming as pulses of electricity whisper along my nerves. I swallow to keep my throat from closing in on me. "Look, Bell—"

"No," she snaps, pointing a rigid finger in my direction. "You had your chance. You dictated every other moment of our day. I'll be the one who dictates _this_ conversation. There are things I need to understand, things that need to be said, and apologies or excuses aren't going to cut it."

"Fair enough," I say, pushing down my need to control everything. "But for the record, apologies and excuses aren't on the agenda, so I'm glad that isn't something you need to be able to move past this."

She bristles, her shoulders tensing. "So you're not going to apologize for subjecting me to, to … that!" Her voice is suddenly shrill as she angrily tosses her arm in the air, motioning to nothing.

"I'm not," I reply, standing and slipping my hands into my pockets to appear less intimidating. "What you saw today was just another facet of Edward Cullen. The darkest part that exists within me, but a part of me nonetheless."

She shakes her head, moisture collecting in her eyes. "I already knew, Edward! Why? Why would you force me to watch that?"

I take a step in her direction, and she flinches, stopping me in my tracks. "Are you afraid of me?" My voice is soft, as I want the truth, not some half-assed lie or a knee-jerk answer.

"Should I be?" she asks, a fresh tear sliding down her cheek. "Is that what you wanted from all this? To make me fear you?"

"Never," I say forcefully, taking two steps in her direction. "I wanted you to _see_ me. _All_ of me." I pause and sigh, running my fingers through my hair. "I'm a man who will do whatever it takes to secure his livelihood. I was born into this world, and everything about it has shaped who I am." I take three long strides in her direction and drop to my knees before her. "You were never supposed to exist. _This feeling_ was never supposed to exist, but it does. I love you, Bella, more than my own life, but that means nothing if you can't love all of me in return."

The tears are streaming now, freely flowing down her cheeks and dripping from her chin, but she makes no move to wipe them away; she only stares at me silently. Her hand lifts as if to touch my head, but she pulls back at the last second and secures it tightly around her waist.

"I already knew who you were, Edward," she says, her voice cracking. "And I'd already accepted it. But don't you realize what you've done? Before, I could've convinced myself you only did what needed to be done for your safety or the safety of your organization, but now you've dispelled that completely. Now, I know how cold and cruel you really are. Now, I have to give up my own morals because you clearly have none! By choosing you, I'm knowingly putting your life above every life you take!" Her fists are balled at her sides, and she is towering over me like a vengeful goddess, yet all I see is beauty and passion.

The angel to my devil.

My perfect match.

"As fucked up as it is to admit, that's exactly what I need from you," I reply, reaching out to brush a finger along her tense arm as I continue in a low voice. "I need you to know me and love me anyway."

Her eyes fall closed, and she wipes her cheeks—with the arm I'm not touching, I might add. When she reopens her eyes, she looks off over my shoulder for a moment before slowly bringing her gaze back to mine. Her eyes are still watery, and her cheeks are red and puffy, but she's still as beautiful as she's ever been.

This time when her hand reaches out, it does settle atop my head, causing me to bite back a moan at the feel of her touch. "I do love you, Edward. Still. But this is no longer about you. It's about me. You've made it all about me." Her eyes leave mine and go to where she's softly scratching against my scalp. "Can you imagine the struggle that's waged inside me these past hours? I hate you, I love you, I hate myself. You've made me complicit. To be with you, I have to accept my own monster."

"No, baby, no," I say, grabbing her free hand and squeezing, forcing her eyes to return to mine. "You're everything I'm not. The light to my dark, the heaven to my hell, the sunshine to my darkness. You're good, and that doesn't have to change. I never wanted to impose my dark acts upon you. They're mine and mine alone. I just wanted you to know me."

"But you did," she says, her fingers trailing from my hair to my cheek. "You forced me to dig into a part of myself I never knew existed. The deepest, darkest part of me won the battle; it forced me to face the truth." She shrugs, her hand falling to her side. "As much as I hate what you did, I love you more. Angela's loss is nothing to me compared to the thought of losing you." She caves in on herself then, pulling her hands away and covering her face as her shoulders shake under the weight of her confession.

In a moment where I should be shouting from the rooftop, all I feel is her pain. There is no victory here. I've deeply hurt the woman I love, and I don't know how to make it right. I don't know if I want to make it right. There is no deception here. No half-truths. She knows me, and she loves me anyway.

But at what cost?

I wrap my arms around her waist and press my face into her midsection as she releases a torrent of tears. As her body shakes under the pressure of her sobs, I do everything I can to hold her together. Silent and steadfast, I offer her support in the only way I know how.

As her sobs fade to tears and then to sniffles, I stand and lift her, carrying her to the bed. She doesn't say anything as I tuck her in and move off to change my clothes. Her dark, sad eyes follow my movements as I strip and slip into a fresh pair of briefs and one of my own T-shirts—unusual for bed, I know.

I'm cautious as I slide in beside her, not wanting to force her into any affection she's not prepared to give. Just knowing she loves me and intends to stay is enough. We have all the time in the world to ease back into the more passionate aspects that burn between us.

Turning to my side, I tuck the duvet beneath my arms and rest my cheek on my open palm, patiently waiting to see if she'll mirror my pose. It takes her a couple of minutes, but she finally fucking does. With a deep, troubled sigh, she matches my position and looks everywhere but my face for another long minute.

"Did you get your answers?" she asks, flitting her eyes to mine.

"Enough," I respond, not wanting to make it worse by admitting the whole truth.

"Meaning?" she presses, her dark eyes so intense it's as if they're trying to reach into my skull and yank the answers from within. "Was she the mole? Is the Miami threat under control?"

"I fucking wish," I say, a deep sigh pushing through my lips. "I think we both know Angela wasn't the mole."

"We do," she agrees, keeping her tone casual—way too fucking casual. "When exactly did you determine that?"

"Are you fucking sure you want that answer, Bella?" I ask, licking my suddenly parched lips. "Things are already bad enough."

She stares at me for a solid minute before breaking my gaze. "Fair enough. It's not a make or break answer." She scans the room over my shoulder. I stay silent and patient until she works up the nerve to return my gaze. The anguish that's settled in her eyes traps the air in my lungs, robbing me of the ability to exhale. "Will I suffer the same fate one day?" she asks quietly, her voice shaky.

My breath comes stuttering out in one long whoosh as the gravity of her question slaps me in the face. "What? No!" I exclaim, my muscles screaming to move closer, to convince her of my conviction, but I hold myself rigid. "Why would you ask such a thing?" Something akin to panic bubbles beneath my skin.

"How can I not?" she asks in that same small, shaky voice.

My eyes fall closed as the totality of her truth slams into me like a boulder. _How can she not?_ Anger quickly replaces the tendrils of panic, but it isn't at her. Never her. This is on me. With all my intentions focused on presenting my absolute worst, I overlooked one very important parallel—for Bella.

Angela is my ex, for all intents and purposes.

If I can torture and murder her with barely a whiff of an excuse, why would Bella be off limits?

I jump up and start to pace beside the bed, my mind whirring to string the words together in a way she'll understand. How do you convince a woman she's different than those before her? What can you offer to placate her every fear? I freeze as the answer strikes me like a bolt of lightning.

Complete, unfettered control.

With hurried, jerky movements, I retake my spot. My heart is battering my ribcage, and my hand shakes as I reach out to cup her jaw. "Baby," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Don't you understand? I _know_ you'd never betray me …" I pause then, steeling myself to hand her the power. Shrugging one shoulder, I take a deep breath only to let it out in a string of words. "And if you did, I'd rather go to prison for the rest of my life than take yours. I love you _that fucking much_."

"I'd never," she says, her cheek nuzzling into my hand. "But people fall out of love all the time. Who's to say you'll feel the same in five years, or one for that matter?"

I flop onto my back with a sigh, my arm falling across my forehead. Frustrated as fucking hell. Who knew just saying the words wasn't enough? After reminding myself this is worth it—she's worth it—I turn back to my side and cup her jaw.

"Maybe I haven't been clear enough," I breathe, trailing my thumb over her dried tear tracks. "There is no falling out of love with you. This feeling?" I tap my chest forcefully. "It has burrowed into every pore of my body and become a part of me. You're the only person I'll ever love, for better or fucking worse. That's why you had to see it all. I needed it to be as real for you as it is for me."

As much as I wish my words would soothe her wounds, I understand they aren't quite enough. Only time can lessen the sting of today. "Trust me," she says, adding a bite that's been missing since her earlier cry. "It's fucking real. That's the problem. Too real. Too terrifying." She snorts. "But not terrifying enough, apparently."

"Are you gonna spend the rest of our lives beating yourself up for choosing me?" I snap, wishing I could suck the words back inside. "Fuck! I'm sorry. I didn't mean that." I roll my goddamn eyes. "I _did_ mean it, just not the way it came out." I sit up, unable to remain in such a docile position with my frustration mounting. "Look, I get it, all right? That was some fucked up shit, and I swear you'll never have to endure anything like it again, but I can't say I wish it never happened. It was a necessary hurdle so we could move forward."

She sits up and brings her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. "I'm not sure I agree with that assessment, but I can also admit that it's too late to change anything." She pauses, chewing on her bottom lip as she studies me. "So if I wanted to walk out of here right now, you'd let me go?"

I nod once. "With concessions."

One of her brows climbs high. "Such as?"

I grip her hands to stop their wringing, careful not to caress her tempting legs. "Security mostly. You'd have to allow it, _at least_ until the Miami threat has passed. You'd have to move to a more secure building. I'd love you to also take your new things, but that wouldn't be a deal breaker."

"That's it?" she asks, breaking contact by withdrawing her hands and straightening her legs. "You'd just give up and let me go? You wouldn't try to change my mind or chase after me?"

For some reason, this feels like a trick question, but I hold her gaze as I respond. "I told you earlier today that this was a make or break moment, and I meant that. If you're ever going to leave me, now is the time."

Her arms cross as if she's gearing up for a fight. "So are you saying that if I don't leave now I can never leave? Because I need to be clear exactly what I'm getting myself into. Maybe my mind isn't as made up as I thought."

"Stop it," I bark, prickles of heat creeping up my spine. "No, I'm not saying that at all. I'd never hurt you in any way, and that includes trapping you in a life you don't want. Ever. Now, later, when-the-fuck-ever!" I pause and calm myself. "What I mean is this is the worst possible scenario. If you can forgive this, what you witnessed today, then the rest of our life should be a piece of cake."

"I doubt anything with you is a 'piece of cake,' but I understand what you're trying to say," she responds, her expression thoughtful.

I move beside her, my hand settling on the mattress on the other side of her legs. She doesn't move away. "I'm trying here, Bella, but you have to meet me half way."

"I'm here, aren't I?" she asks, tilting her head to the side. "I'm not leaving. I still love you. I _want_ a life with you. But I need time to move past this. I'll never be able to erase the images that are burned on the back of my lids."

My head drops as I bob my agreement. "I know I said I wouldn't be making apologies, but if I were, that's what it would be for." I lift my eyes and move closer, one arm caging her thighs while the other grabs her hand. "You seeing me like that was my worst fear and greatest desire all wrapped in one. I was so focused on what it meant for me that I neglected to think about you. I truly am sorry I failed you in that respect."

For the first time tonight, she initiates her own contact—well, more like enhances mine, but I'll take it. She squeezes the hand that's holding hers in a death grip. "We can't go back. There's no way to fix it," she says as she sits up straighter, bringing her gaze, her presence, her scent closer. "We can only move forward."

"How," I breathe softly, terrified of ruining the moment. "Where do we start?"

"Slowly," she replies, leaning forward and pressing her lips to mine. The kiss is slow and soft, just a lengthy touch of skin.

Relief from the simple action slumps my shoulders and settles bone-deep. It expands inside me, filling my heart and mind with absolute assurance. She _can_ forgive. She _will_ forgive. She only needs time. And she can have the rest of our lives, though judging by the presence of that familiar spark, she won't need that long.

As she pulls away, everything in me screams for her to come back, to give me more, but I push it down, thankful as fuck she's giving me anything at all. I lift my hand and push her hair over her shoulder. "Thank you for that. It's not enough. It'll never be enough, but it's also more than I deserve."

"It bothers me too, ya know," she says, resting her back against the headboard. "I don't like feeling like this. The urge to fuck it away is strong, but I'd only regret it in the morning."

"Jesus," I mutter, her statement sending all my blood rushing south. "That's not helping in any way."

For the first time tonight, a short, sweet giggle slips through her lips. "Hmm, if I hadn't already used the naked route, it'd be a fitting punishment. Oh well." She shrugs one shoulder. "I guess I'll have to come up with something equally as fitting."

I match her light tone and add a smirk for good measure. "I'm sure you'll come up with something. And whatever it is, I'll take it like a man."

"Good," she says.

"I love you, Bella." My voice is low and sincere, expressing more with my tone than the words alone could ever convey. "Do you believe me?"

She sits up and palms my cheek. "I believe you, and I love you back. We'll be okay, Edward. It's just going to take a time for this hurt to soften."

"Take all the time you need." I reach up and pull her hand down, holding it tightly. "Do you need me to sleep upstairs for a few days?"

"No," she says sharply, her hand squeezing mine as if to hold me there. "Please don't."

Her insistent tone sends a dizzying surge of love through me. "Okay, I'll stay." I bring her hand up and kiss her knuckles. "Can I hold you? No funny business, I swear."

Her expression grows wary as she studies me, gnawing away at her bottom lip.

"No pressure, solare," I say softly. "I want only as much as you're ready to give. No more."

"Yes."

That's the last word spoken between us. What follows is a pair of clumsy, unsure people who're both afraid of making the wrong move. After the lights are out and the windows are darkened, we end up settled beneath the duvet, her back to my chest, my nose buried in her hair, soaking up her scent. One of my arms is underneath her pillow, and the other is around her waist, anchoring her as close as I can without making her uncomfortable.

Quiet breaths fill the silence, hurried at first, but they soon settle into perfect matching rhythms. Contentment carries me into sleep not long after.

A loud ring sounds through the speakers, jerking me awake sometime later. I immediately expect the worst as I sit up swiftly. "It's the house phone. I'll be right back," I say, pressing a kiss to the side of Bella's head.

My heart is hammering by the time I make it to the cordless base in my office. "Hello?"

"She's gone, Edward," Jasper says, his pain palpable. "Everything's been taken care of, but I need you to get here before the coroner. Leave your guns at home."

"Why? What's going on?"

Silence.

He's already ended the call.

* * *

 **I've been busy since I last saw you guys, lots of words written and I think I may have fell in love with reading fic again. It's been a long time for me. So I want to start something new. I know you guys are WIPers, and I'm a complete girl, but I hope you'll give it a try.**

 **Fyre's Fic Challenge**

 **Rec: Beneath this Sky by Bedelia**

 **I almost have no words for the greatness that is this fic. It's a true fandom hidden gem that deserves thousands of reviews, not a mere 1300. My challenge to you is to READ IT! If you were fond of my Mating Deviation, its uniqueness, then you will LOVE this one. It's even more unique with a plot that will blow you away. I've written a more detailed rec and you can find it on my FB page, if you're interested. PLEASE, take the time to review as you go, and I'm always here if you just need to fangirl over its awesomeness. Part 2 of the challenge, rec me something you think is on this level of greatness.**

 **FB Page: Fyregirl Fics (I also post Operation teasers ;)**

 **See you in 2 weeks :)**


	31. Deep Breaths

**Fran is the beta babe, and Sunshine, 2browneyes and Ninkita are kind enough to give me their thoughts!**

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 **Gore rating— WARNING! This chapter contains a _very_ graphic description of a specific event! If you have triggers, please PM me before reading to make sure it is something you can handle. I won't ruin the chapter by announcing it here. **

As the SUV slithers through the mostly empty, pre-dawn streets and snakes into the suburbs, my mind is unsettled after such an abrupt call. Tension has crept into my muscles, drawing my lips into a frown and forcing my eyes to remain wide on the road as mile after mile passes by.

"Can't we get there any fucking quicker?" I bark, knowing Seth's already driving faster than is legal.

"Calm down, Boss." Garret turns in his seat, his hand held up. I open my mouth to snap some more meaningless bullshit, but he keeps going. "The last thing your uncle needs is you barging in there all cranky at a time like this. Breathe with me." He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, holds it and then slowly releases.

By his third breath, I find myself mimicking his fucking movements, and it helps—slightly. The next time I look up, Seth's waving to the security guard at the posh community the older generation of my family has chosen to be their home, and he opens the gate so we can enter the neighborhood.

All the lost tension returns like a shot to the gut as I spot the large, dark house looming at the end of their driveway. As Seth punches in their personal gate code, I restart my breathing exercise, realizing I should be calm for Jasper.

I need to offer comfort before I can demand my answers.

A lone light burns in the upstairs window, giving the large home an eerie feel. I know Jasper well, so I'm sure he's still upstairs right beside his beloved. They'll probably have to pry him away.

I take one more deep breath through my nose and push it out with a heavy, broken-hearted sigh. "Sit tight," I say, tapping the back of Garret's seat as I shove the door open and stand.

As I move up the pathway, my Spidey senses kick into overdrive at the small, dark gap between the frame and the actual door. It's open. On instinct, I reach for my gun, only to remember it's not there.

"Fuck!" I mutter, shoving the door open and moving swiftly inside. Freezing darkness greets me, but I know this house and waste no time in grabbing the rail to lead me up the stairs. At the top, I pause. "Jasper!" My feet automatically move toward the light at the end of the hallway.

In the back of my mind, a likely scenario is already forming, but I push it aside, refusing to allow it to fester. My heart is beating at a rapid pace, and it feels like this is the longest hallway I've ever fucking seen in my life. The light beckons me, calling my name with more urgency each stride, only to bring me to a stumbling halt just a few paces inside the door.

As I expected, Jasper is beside his wife, though not exactly as I had in mind. A small clear bag is over his head, duct taped closed at the throat, the used roll tossed to the carpet. His hands are cuffed behind his back, and his chest is unmoving. The bed is slightly disheveled beneath him, likely from the thirty seconds of panic he suffered before sweet oblivion claimed him. As the method goes, he chose a relatively non-messy, quick and effective means of ending his life.

I don't rush forward and attempt to save him. He wouldn't want that. A quick glance at the bedside clock tells me all hope is lost anyway. It's been forty-two minutes since his call. Six minutes and the heart stops beating. Fifteen and you're biologically dead. The scene is poetic really, the deepest of love seeing them through to the end. It's both amazingly heartbreaking and somehow soul-satisfying to witness such devotion.

To know his life meant nothing without her.

I approach cautiously, moving toward the cordless phone on the bureau. As with most things in mob life, this is not a new occurrence. It's happened before, and we have a procedure in place. Landlines become the only form of communication as they show a clear record for investigative purposes. In fact, the house phone call alone should've been my first clue, but I stubbornly refused to even consider this option.

Not with my goddamn answers on the line.

My jaw tightens with the thought of secrets taken to the grave, and I want to pummel a lifeless body, yet as I glare at him, something previously unnoticed catches my attention from the nightstand. An envelope. My breath leaves me in a gush as I grab a tissue from a nearby container and take four swift strides, plucking it up and shoving them both into my inside pocket before returning to lift the phone.

" _911, what's your emergency?"_

"I'd like to report a suicide," I say, my voice void of emotion.

" _Can I get your name and address, sir?"_

The yellow flashing lights from the coroner's van glow through the window. "The coroner just arrived. He must've called them before …" I trail off and pause, emitting a deep sigh. "My name is Edward Cullen, and I'm at the home of Alice and Jasper Whitlock. Alice has passed after a lengthy battle with pancreatic cancer, and it looks as if Jasper decided to join her."

" _The address?"_ the operator prompts.

I rattle off the address and the gate code as I move from the room and down the stairs, turning on lights as I go. "I'm allowing the coroner entrance as we speak," I say, motioning a familiar face inside.

" _An officer is in route. Would you like me to remain on the line?"_

"No, thank you," I respond, ending the call. "Mr. Yorkie, I believe this will be a little more than you expected." I motion to the stairs. "Shall we? Jasper called you himself?"

"Yes, sir." He nods, knowing full well his place.

"Me also," I muse, my brows drawing together. "It seems he planned this well."

He gives me a quizzical look, but it quickly shifts to understanding as we enter the bedroom. "Ahh, I see, sir." He shakes his head sadly. "Unfortunately, it happens."

"I didn't disturb the scene or make any attempts at resuscitation," I offer, keeping my voice even. "It was obviously not his wish."

"I understand, sir," he says, checking his own watch. "I'm sure it would have been useless anyway, and it would've placed your DNA on the body."

I snort. "Can't have that, can we?"

"No, sir, we can't."

Blue lights flash against the window, and I excuse myself to greet the officers. Jasper's order of no guns is clear and easily understandable now—overlooked clue number two. The envelope is burning a hole through my chest, but I won't be able to move onto it until I've played the part of grieving, sympathetic friend—even though suspicion will automatically be aimed my way.

I show the two officers to the scene and make myself scarce so they can do their job. Of course, one of the fucks has to show his superiority before I walk away. "Stay close, Mr. Cullen. We'll need to question you soon."

"I wouldn't miss it for anything," I say self-assuredly as I pause in the doorway. "Mr. Yorkie, please let me know if you need anything. I'll be downstairs."

As I walk down the grand staircase, my heart is heavy, but my mind has already moved beyond this moment. It's focused on the envelope tucked securely in my pocket and wondering what secrets it contains. I dare not pull it out here, not with prying eyes and ears about, yet it burns against my skin.

A throat clearing from the open doorway draws my eyes upward, and I'm not even in the mood to sneer. "Agent Swan," I say, unsurprised by his appearance. "Do come in."

"Edward," he says tersely, capturing my glare. "I trust my daughter isn't here?" He looks past me, toward the upstairs landing.

I sigh as I sit on a step a couple up from the bottom and prop my elbows on my knees. "She's not, but you can expect her to be at the funeral."

He bobs his head, resigned. "Is everything on the up and up here? I'm not going to find these circumstances suspicious?"

My eyes fall to the floor, not even angry at his question. "Not in the least. Jasper planned this down to the very last detail."

"Where's Carlisle?" he asks, snapping into agent mode.

"Beats me." I shrug. "I honestly haven't even had the time to call him."

"Why don't you do that while I go take a look at the scene," he says, moving toward the staircase. "Tell him to stay put, though. One Cullen here is enough."

I slip over so he can get by, and as he passes, he grips my shoulder tightly for a brief moment. "I'm sorry about Alice and Jasper. I know they were like family to you."

I brush off his sentiment as unwelcome grief tugs at my heart. "Yeah, you should probably get up there before the locals fuck up something."

He doesn't say anything further, and once he's out of sight, I stand and go to the foyer, picking up the downstairs handset. After punching in my parents' home number, I put it to my ear and count the rings. One, two … seven, eight … eleven, twelve. I hit the off button and toss it onto the table, frustrated that neither of them can be bothered to answer. Landline rings always mean serious fucking business in Outfit life.

Pacing the foyer, I allow my mind to wander. I find it interesting that my father isn't here. Alice, Jasper and Carlisle have been friends their entire lives, and for the latter not to be here sends a waft of uncertainty skimming through me. What exactly did Jasper know, and what might he have done pertaining to that information? The only hope I have of finding out is getting home and going over the contents of the mysterious envelope in private.

As more people arrive, I stay in the foyer, pacing the floor and imagining scenario after scenario of where my father might be. I try the house phone three more times, becoming more worried with each unanswered call. Where the fuck is my mother, at the very least?

The next time I pick up the phone, I place a call to Emmett. He wants to hurry over, but as bad as I hate to admit it, Charlie Swan is right. He also has no idea where Pop is, but he promises to make a house call right away and get back to me.

With that taken care of, I focus back on the matter at hand by taking the stairs two at a time. "Agent Swan," I say as I enter the bedroom. My eyes can't help but be drawn to the two gurneys that hold my aunt and uncle's dead bodies enclosed in thick black bags. I swallow as I tear my eyes away. "I was hoping we could get this taken care of. I can't locate my parents, so I'd really like to go by their house."

Charlie acknowledges my question by giving the coroner permission to leave with the bodies and pulling a notepad from his pocket. "Mr. Cullen, let's go ahead and get your version of events."

The next thirty minutes are spent in the hall with Agent Swan as he goes over and over my statement of events, along with informing me of Alice's estimated time of death—hours earlier. A couple other agents are securing evidence in the room, along with the two original responding officers. When he's finished pressing me for details, Agent Swan orders all the men to wrap it up.

Ten minutes later, I stand by my SUV and watch them all leave. Just as I go back inside to lock up, Emmett calls to inform me that our mother is okay. She was just sleeping heavily, and Pop isn't there at all. She told him Jasper stopped by last night for a drink and she went to bed shortly after, leaving the two men in Carlisle's office.

My blood chills.

Jasper would've never left a dying Alice, which means she was already dead. "What time was he there?" I bark, impatient.

There's a pause and some muttering before Emmett speaks into the receiver. "She says it was ten thirty-eight when she turned off her bedside lamp."

The envelope burns a hole through my pocket, knowing my answers are inside. "All right," I say, heaving a sigh. "Stay put, and I'll be in touch in a bit."

"Will do," Emmett replies, ending the call.

In urgent need of getting home to the seclusion of my penthouse, I hurry to the SUV and hastily slip inside. "Take me home. Now!"

I pinch the bridge of my nose as I rest my head against the seat. My mind is going a million miles a second, constantly thinking and wondering, while at the same time knowing where my answers lie. It's a vicious cycle, and it's fucking with my head.

"Drive faster," I bark to Seth. "The sun's up, cars are on the road, no reason to pussyfoot around!"

"Yes, Boss," he replies, stepping on the gas.

Sweet relief moves through me as we pull into the garage entrance, and I impatiently motion for him to bring the vehicle to a stop. "Stay prepared," I order, stepping from the car. "I have no idea how the day will turn out or what my plans are."

"Got it, Boss," Garrett responds. "We'll be ready for anything."

The elevator ride takes forever, and I charge out of it so intent on getting to my office that I almost miss Bella sitting on the sofa. When she stands, though, my feet come to a screeching halt. For a long moment we simply stare at each other, but everything I've felt and witnessed comes barging into my mind, propelling my feet toward her.

"I'm so sorry, Edward," she says, and she does the most amazing thing. She opens her arms, even though I don't deserve it.

I fall into them, my forehead buried into the crook of her neck as deep, gasping breaths escape in a moment of both overwhelming grief and utter serenity. Jasper loved his wife so fucking much that he couldn't stay in this world without her, and for the first time in my life, I can understand the action explicitly.

Bella's hands roam up my back before they find their way into my hair, her nails scratching against my scalp as she hums a low, soothing tune. My eyes fucking burn, but I shove that shit away and clench my jaw, pulling myself together. I'm home. Bella is here, and my answers are at my fingertips.

I lift my head and brush away a tear that's trailing down her cheek. "I know this is only going to make it worse, but you have to know." I shake my head and close my eyes briefly, steeling myself to sadden her further. "Jasper has also joined his wife in death."

"What?" she whispers as her hand comes up and her eyes fill with tears which immediately start to overflow. I rub her shoulders, her back, her hair, all trying to bring comfort. "It's okay, solare. He didn't want to live without her. It hurts, but we need to accept his choice."

"It's awfully sad," she blubbers, pressing her face into my chest—yes, her snotty face—and I hold it firmly against me, cringing the whole time, yet not feeling uncomfortable enough to push her away.

After a good ten minutes, she's only left sniffling, and I grab her shoulders when she finally pulls away. "Look, I know this isn't exactly what normal people do when we get this kind of news, but Jasper left me something. Something important, and I need to go over it."

Her brows gather in the center of her forehead. "Okay," she says, wiping her face. "What is it?"

"A letter. I need to read it, and I expect it to explain some things."

"Do you want me to cook breakfast or something while you go take a look?"

"I'd like it better if you came with me," I say, holding out my hand. "But I'll understand if you'd rather not know whatever the fuck it says."

She looks from my eyes to my hand several times before taking it with a smile. "If you need me, then that's where I want to be."

Gratefully, I take her hand and lead her to my office. I perch behind my desk with her on my knee, my arms enclosing her on either side. With jittery hands, I slide the letter opener along the top of the envelope and pull out the paper inside. With a deep breath, I open the pages so I can see the words.

 _Dear Edward,_

 _I know this letter will find you as tense as a guitar string. Relax. Breathe. Wherever Alice and I are, whether in heaven or hell or nowhere at all, we're together, just as we were always meant to be._

 _But that's not why you're tense, is it?_

 _I promised you answers, and you shall have them, but I also have acted to ease your burden, to prevent you from having to face the unpleasant. A mob war still lingers in your future, but I have placed you in prime position to handle it as you see fit._

 _You see, several months back, before Alice gave in to the inevitable, she and I had an average lunch with Carlisle and Esme. Only my dear wife picked up on one tiny detail that, to her knowledge, was unknown about Carlisle's very young goomah. Esme's mother, Grace, was adopted as a very young child._

 _Alice set to work, sure this new information would lead somewhere, and you know her, when she sets her mind to it, her skills are unmatched. It seems, after the adoption, a new birth certificate was issued listing the adoptive parents as if they were the birth parents. Therefore, Grace's maiden name of Evenson is false. All background information we've compiled does pertain to her life, but Alice was certain this should be explored deeper. Due to her condition, I made the trip for her. A one day visit to Pensacola, Fla. where I was able to grease a few palms and obtain the adoption records._

 _As you must imagine by now, the results were troubling. Grace Evenson was born a King, to be more specific, she is the firstborn of Roger and Dorothy King._

I pause, my mind fucking reeling. Esme's mother is the sister of Royce and Ronald King. First, I wonder why in the fuck they would ever give her away, and secondly, is it possible they planned this for many, many years? I shake my head and steel myself, returning my eyes to the words before me, confident all the answers are here.

 _Of course, our first action was to speak with your father, our friend and Boss of the Outfit. Sadly, he brushed it off as inconvenient but nothing more. He refused to discuss it further and insisted Esme had no knowledge of the Miami connection. We pressed him on several occasions the following week, and each time an argument would ensue, so we finally backed off._

 _But Alice was determined. She spent every waking moment afterward in her bed with her computer in hand searching for the link. The proof. The indisputable evidence that Esme was sharing information with our enemy. But aside from that, we also wondered why? Why would the Kings give up their firstborn child?_

 _A look into our history provided that answer._

 _In 1972, acting as Underboss, your wretched grandfather set these events in motion. After a temper tantrum over something very minor, Samuel put a hit out on Roger King, who had just become the Boss in Miami at a very young age. There was an accident, and while both Roger and Dorothy survived, the news was reported that she had lost their first child. It was six years before they finally had Ronald and another three for Royce. My best guess here is this event was_ _also the catalyst for the attempted kidnapping when you and Emmett were young. Some kind of revenge or another leg of the long-standing discord Roger felt for the Cullens._

I shake my head as I read the words, pulling Bella's body tighter against mine as the unpleasant memory assaults me. If this is true, then Roger's sons, though young at the time, are aware of the plot and using it as another layer to their current actions.

 _With that information uncovered, Alice was more determined than ever. Her strength was waning, yet she fought day in and day out, wanting so desperately to find the answers. For your sake. Not for her own, as she knew her time on this earth was almost over, or Carlisle's or mine._

 _It was one week before you last spoke with her when the break came. She hacked into an old email account Esme used in high school. As you can imagine, by this point, Alice had spent many days unpeeling Esme's past, layer by layer. Upon this discovery, she had access in no time at all, but combing through the twenty-five thousand emails took time and patience, and she struck gold. There, buried among the clutter, was a string of emails, mostly mundane, but very clearly exchanged with Royce King. They demonstrated a close, familial bond between an uncle and his niece._

 _With positive proof, we confronted Carlisle once more, yet his response was the same. She decided right then that she would betray a confidence with your father we have shared for many decades. She was unwilling to leave you in the dark. Of course, from my viewpoint, simply telling you was not enough, which is why I was relieved when Alice failed to do so._

 _I promised you that day it would be taken care of, and it has been. You have the story. You know who was passing Outfit information to Miami, along with everything else we've uncovered._

 _You will never see your father again, and if this pains you, I am deeply sorry, but I took this step so you wouldn't have to. He was beyond reason when it came to that woman. It killed me to see one of the smartest men I've ever known taken in by a hot, young piece of ass._

 _In the end, she cost him his life, as I could not pass on peacefully knowing he chose to stand by a traitor. I hope you understand, and I'm sorry for the grief you'll surely feel._

 _Your mother should report him missing in a day or two, and your answers will be honest. You do not know where he is or what happened to him. Emmett will receive a package at Grizzly very soon that contains all our electronics: cells, laptops and tablets. Have him destroy them after retrieving any information he sees fit._

 _For my last act as Consigliere for the Chicago Outfit, I have arranged a meeting for you. Miami has lived outside our code of honor for many years, and it is time for a new family to lead them. There is no point in a war that does not bring about change. For a mission such as this, you will need the backing of the other leading families. Their understanding of your goal, at the very least._

 _The meeting is scheduled for next Saturday in Boston. Yes, this may seem odd to you, but with New York and Boston combining families due to the successful marriage of Bee Swanatori and Killa Masen, the east coast organization has become even more powerful. Both the Las Vegas and Seattle families have also agreed to the sit-down. Your new Consigliere should contact each family over the next week and confirm your attendance, while also relaying your stance in a clear and decisive manner. Choose this person well._

 _Alice and I love you, Edward, and I have full confidence that you're ready for the position I've thrust upon you. Trust your instincts, keep your cool and rule with an iron fist, while also loving and respecting the woman at your side, as I'm sure she is at this very minute._

 _There is only one more answer to give before I bid a final goodbye. Esme. Where is she? My last gift to you. Contact Aro._

 _Your mole awaits._

 _Jasper_

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 ****If you recognize the names Killa Masen and Bee Swanatori, please remember that in Operation time, the OneShot has already occurred. So anything you learn from them here is beyond anything you have read.**

 ****Guys! Gahh, I'm soooo happy to see a few of you took the time to read Beneath this Sky, and judging by your reviews, you were just as blown away as I was. TBH, I was afraid I'd never find another fic that good again, so afterward, I settled into an old fave. Elemental by TallulahBelle. I won't call it a Fyre's Fic Challenge because I know most have read it, but if by some far, random chance that you haven't—go do it! Hopefully I'll have another for you soon, and thanks for the recs btw, I opened any I haven't read before and maybe I can give them a try soon.**

 ****Final note and one I feel I need to make. I do not agree with ruining stories by giving explicit warnings. This chapter gave me a little worry, what should I say? So I think it's time I make my position on what I write clear. Unless I specifically warn otherwise, at the beginning of a story, I will ALWAYS write an ExB HEA story. The path they take to get there, I make no promises. Of course, I'm not going to throw a crazy, unwarranted turn 31 chapters into a story just to get a reaction, but I'm just saying that you should always expect the unexpected when you read my stuff because I don't like predictable.**

 **You'll see me again this week, though not here :)**


	32. Another Me

**Thanks to Sunshine, 2browneyes and Ninkita who all read this with a discerning eye. All mistakes are mine.**

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 **Gore rating—6**

"What time did Jasper call you?" I ask Aro as we stand out of the limelight in another abandoned building.

"It was just before two," he replies, flinching as a Skilsaw suddenly cranks to life in the background. "When I picked up the Camaro earlier in the evening, he hinted at needing my help and I told him anytime."

I purse my lips to keep my anger at a fucking dead man contained. Jasper was already making his plans when I last saw him and he gave me no clue whatsoever. _It's not Aro's fault_ , I remind myself as I tamp down the irrational urge to lash out at him.

"And it never crossed your mind to call me?" I snap, not doing a very good job of keeping it contained.

"I didn't know what he wanted until I got there, and he assured me you were his next call and told me to hold her until I heard from you." He shrugs. "I had no idea he was going to …" He trails off, swallowing back emotion.

I bob my head, choosing to remain silent because it makes sense. If I couldn't pick up on the small tells of Jasper's last acts, how can I expect anyone else to? It's a somber moment where we both let a little of our fucking grief show, until a monster-enticing scream breaks through the silence and snatches us back to the present.

Looking to the light, a smirk lifts my lips as I saunter back into the action. Esme's eyes latch onto me. "Please, Edward, I've told him everything I know. Make him stop. Make it stop!" She's shouting by the time she's done as she struggles to move away from the roaring blade that's only been used as a scare tactic so far.

I almost don't recognize the man wielding it. He's crazed with wide, maniacal eyes hidden behind dark square frames and blood-stained clothes as he works to torture this traitor into submission. I toss my head back and chuckle darkly when he nicks her leg with the spinning blade, causing blood to pour from the jagged hole.

"What are they planning!" Emmett screams, swiping the saw toward her face. "Tell me their next move!"

With Pop gone, the Outfit will need a new order of leadership, and there's no one I can choose as Underboss besides my brother—as much as we both hate it. It's a huge feat, attempting to give the position to a man who hasn't even made his bones, but we're rectifying that now. The ranks will fall into line or they'll find themselves in a precarious fucking position.

Looking at Emmett now, though, I'm beginning to wonder why I ever thought he isn't cut out for this life. All it took was the mention of his precious Rosalie's life being at risk and he jumped in head first, ready to do whatever he needs to secure her future. I'm proud as fuck, but I also wonder if he realizes the gravity of his acceptance. This is a life-long commitment, something he'll be tied to long after this threat is dissolved.

The saw gets flung to the concrete and makes a loud grinding sound as the blade slices into it. But Emmett doesn't give a fuck. He braces his hands on either side of Esme and leans in, his face more menacing than I've ever seen. "What. Is. Their. Goddamn. Plan!"

She jerks her head back as far as she can to avoid the rabid spittle that's spewing from his mouth. "I told you—"

"You haven't told me anything!" he roars, standing up and stalking toward a small folding table. "You've only admitted things we already knew." His voice is calm now, calculating, as he looks over the tools.

Selecting a Dremel, he adds the large, round sanding tip and moves back toward us, flicking the switch. The small machine buzzes to life and he wastes no time in pressing it against her forehead. She's leery at first, probably not feeling much yet, but as he grinds in the same spot over and over, her fear and pain escalate. She starts thrashing, causing the tip to slip to various parts of her face. It isn't strong enough to remove much skin, but the burn left behind can be pretty fucking painful.

I step forward and grip the top of her head, holding her in place. Emmett gives me an impressive evil grin and gets back to his selected torture technique. Esme shrieks in terror and tries to move, but my hold is ironclad as my brother gives her the full spa treatment.

So far the techniques he's used have only been mildly painful and meant to induce terror, but it's time we move this along. I have many things to take care of in the next few days.

I dig my fingers into her hair and yank her head backward, so she is looking up at me, and lean down so my lips are near her ear. "We've been kind to you, Esme. Much kinder than we should've. Game time is over." I release her and give Emmett a nod.

He returns to the table and comes back with a large hunting knife, admiring the blade like only a blood-thirsty killer would. "Emmett," I snap, catching his attention. "Let's see if we can make a rat squeak, yeah?"

He snaps into action then, pushing the tip of the blade into the open cut on her leg. She screams, but it falls on deaf ears. The blade gouges and slices before he runs a long, thin cut up her calf then pushes the point against the side of her knee, pausing to look at her. "Would you like to speak now, or shall I continue?"

She huffs, as if she isn't tied to a chair and in a very fucked up position. Before I can move forward to emphasize his point, Emmett does it all on his own. He grips the handle firmly and pushes it into her knee until the bone stops the blade, and then he twists it in a complete circle.

Her terror and pain flow from her in a string of strangled, mumbling sobs. Her eyes are wide and terror-filled, but her lips still aren't moving.

The monster perks up and rattles his bars, begging to be let free, but I keep him restrained. This is Emmett's show and he knows what needs to be done. Standing abruptly, he steps back to the table and returns with a butane torch, clicking the whirring flame to life.

He focuses on the fire as he speaks. "Small but powerful," he says, cutting his eyes to a panting Esme. "Can you imagine the pain I can inflict with this?" He takes a step closer, motioning in the general direction of her head. "I could singe your eyebrows off and melt the skin to your eyelids."

"No!" she screams. "P-please no. I'll tell you everything I know. Please!"

He pauses the flame just inches from her face. "What is their plan?"

"I don't know," she cries, breaking down into a blubbering mess. "I've only been feeding them stuff. I don't know what they've been doing with it."

Emmett's free hand reacts so fast I barely see it move as he rears back and delivers a back hand across her cheek. Blood erupts from her lips as her head flies to the side. "You don't know! You don't know!" he rages, pacing the floor in short, angry bursts. "My brother was almost killed because of that information, and you're too stupid to even know how that puts your life in danger? Did you think you were invincible? You had to know I'd figure you out at some point."

"But Carlisle," she cries, shaking her head. "He loves me. He knows I'd never do anything to hurt him."

Emmett lets out a booming, sarcastic laugh and leans down to her eye level. "Carlisle is dead, and it's all your fault."

Esme gasps, every bit of hope seeping from her eyes. "No," she whispers, her chin dropping to her chest as sobs wrack her frame. "I never ..." She shakes her head, unable to continue her thought. "He wasn't supposed to die." She lifts her eyes and they narrow on me. "You! You were supposed to die." She starts struggling then, fighting her restraints harder than she has so far, but as every other time, it's fucking useless.

She's goddamn pathetic.

And Emmett needs no prodding to get her under control. Two more backhands bring her temper tantrum to a halt and she falls limp, tired of the struggle. "Kill me," she mumbles. "I want to be with Carlisle."

"As you shall," I bark, stepping closer and lifting her chin. "What is the last piece of information you shared with Royce?"

She snatches her chin away and eyes Emmett. "I have a second phone, a pre-paid one. It's in my apartment. Find it and you'll have everything you need to know." Tears gather and leak down her cheeks. "Kill me, Emmet. Please."

She makes a completely pathetic image as she sits tied and begging. Her face is covered in splotchy red patches from the sanding, tears join blood as they drip to her chest and her dead eyes have already accepted her fate. She is going to die, and Emmett will be the one to kill her. She could've benefitted from this world had she been loyal, but now she'll die a painful death instead.

"Not just yet," Emmett sneers, yanking the blade from her knee, causing blood to spew from the wound. "Why did you want my brother dead?" he asks, driving the blade into her thigh in a swift, unexpected move. Esme's shriek pierces the air, but he only pulls it out and thrusts into a different spot. "Was Carlisle aware of what you were doing?"

She's too hysterical to do much other than scream, but Emmett doesn't give a fuck. This time when he removes the knife and plunges it back in, he digs it around, twisting and waddling it around. The absolute enjoyment I see in his eyes is impressive.

It's also a little unnerving.

I mean, I fucking love it, but this is a side of Emmett that's foreign. It has never existed before. It's almost like he's transformed into this complete other person. Another me, and I'm not sure the world can handle the both of us.

Tired of the incessant screaming, he leaves the knife where it is and wraps his fingers around her throat, silencing her immediately. "I asked you a question," he says, enunciating each word with precision. "When I release you, you _will_ answer me." He yanks his hand away and crosses his arms, his wiry form imposing in its rigidity.

Esme sucks in several large gasps, and she keeps her hysterics at bay. "Carlisle didn't know anything," she finally pants. "He was a good man, and you've killed him for nothing!"

I'm slightly impressed that she has the balls to scream at Emmett, but she is a stupid motherfucker. "You killed him," Emmett replies. "Your stupid loyalty to a family who threw you away killed him. His stupid loyalty to you killed him." He reaches for the knife. "Now tell me why my brother was the target."

Her head lolls to the side as the fight leaves her. "Don't you see? I wasn't thrown away, this was the plan all along. I've always had a part to play, since before I was born. I had no choice."

Unexpectedly, a rush of sympathy flows through me. It only lasts a second and is quickly washed away with scorn, but I can see her dilemma. Were the situation reversed, I can't say I wouldn't have done the same.

Emmett must feel it, too, because his stance softens and his voice is gentler when he asks the question he most wants to know. "What about my Rosie? Tell me what they know about her, and I'll make it swift."

"Everything," Esme replies without looking up.

Emmett pales, not moving a muscle, but I can't allow it. I pull a Glock from my waistband and shove it into his limp hand. "Finish this." My words are a quiet command, and he listens.

The first bullet enters her foot, enough to snap her to attention, then her knee and one to her stomach. By now, she's numb to the pain as blood pours from her wounds. Her breaths have sped and her body is crumpled in shock, unaware of the goings on around her.

She is in the throes of death when Emmett nudges her head with the hot barrel, lifting her dazed focus to him. He shoves the gun into her open mouth, eliciting _the_ look. The one of fear, panic and acceptance all in quick succession. As soon as the last one settles into her expression, Emmett pulls the trigger and steps back, disconnecting himself from the moment and returning to a version of my bother I'm more familiar with. One who values life and is regretful over the loss, no matter how deserving the death.

I motion Aro into action as I move to comfort Emmett. At first he shrugs me off, but I'm persistent, starting with a strong grip to his shoulder and slowly pulling him into an embrace. He accepts my comfort just as he comes to accept his actions.

Slowly, he pulls away and collects himself. "I'm fine," he says, and I'm not sure if it's for my benefit or his. "It had to be done."

I nod once. "And you had to do it." I pause, unsure if now is the time, in the shadow of a dead woman, but there are things that need to be said. "I know this life was never your calling and I'm sorry you're being forced into it, but you understand why it has to be you, don't you?"

He adjusts his glasses, straightening up even further. "Not only do I understand, I'd never allow you to choose someone else. The Outfit belongs to the Cullens, and it will remain that way as long as you or I have a say."

I smirk, the man before me impressing me in ways I never imagined. "And here I thought I'd have to beg."

"Not when everything I care about is threatened," he replies, shaking his head.

"And after the threat has passed, will you regret the commitment then?" I ask. "You know this is a lifetime decision; it can't be undone."

"When is the ceremony?" he asks, ignoring my question but still answering it in his own way. He may regret it one day, but he's not changing his mind.

"With this taken care of, I want it soon," I reply, pursing my lips in thought. "Our organization needs to be at peak performance in time for the meeting with the other families. Let me work on the specifics, but expect it soon."

Emmett nods. "I'd like it to be before the funeral, if possible."

My brows furrow. "Any particular reason?"

"I'd just feel safer knowing we had our ducks in a row before such a public event," he replies. "Knowing they're out there makes me want to keep my Rosie behind lock and key at all times."

I grip his arm, squeezing tightly. "I'll take care of it, Em. We'll protect her."

Leaving Aro to take care of the mess left behind, Emmett and I head our separate ways, back to our homes where the women in our lives await. Bella has been busy working on Jasper and Alice's funeral arrangements with my mother, strangely e-fucking-nough, and I get straight to work on making Outfit decisions that will affect us all.

With Emmett set to take over the role of Underboss, I still need to fill the position of Consigliere. It has to be someone I trust implicitly to not only speak up when they feel the need, but also to carry out my orders even when they're not in full agreement.

There's only one man who can fill that position.

Demetri.

So with Outfit business in mind, I make the trip down to the twelfth floor to formally offer him the role. "Edward." He answers the door, surprised by my presence. "Come in. Riley is resting in his room."

"Oh?" I say, as I've completely forgotten about him. "I actually came to speak with you, but I'll be sure to stop in before I leave."

"Good. Can I get you anything?" he asks, motioning me to the sofa.

I shake my head and pin him with a serious stare. "I came to talk business. Outfit business."

"Sounds serious," he remarks, taking a seat in a chair close by.

"I think it is," I say, leaning forward and propping my elbows on my knees. "I'd like to offer you the position of Consigliere. I know you've settled into a smaller role after many years as part of the family, but I can't imagine anyone else for the job. I need you by my side."

"If I can be so bold, I was hoping you'd come to me," Demetri replies. "The truth is, with Jasper gone, we need someone like me. Someone diplomatic and that has your respect. I think I can be both."

I smile, pleased that he agrees. "Consider it done, then." I stand, ready to move onto contacting Caius.

"Edward," he calls, halting me. "If I may be so bold again, I'd like to nominate Riley for a different position." My brows rise, but he keeps speaking. "More like a replacement for me with some advanced responsibilities."

"He's not even an associate," I reply, fucking dumbfounded.

He lifts a finger, halting my thoughts. "But he has killed to protect you. He can be inducted right alongside Emmett."

"And you're willing be his sponsor? You trust him that much?" I lift a brow, encouraging him to think deeply on this matter before responding.

"Consider it done," he replies.

"Well then, direct me to his room."

The conversation with Riley reminds me why Demetri trusts him so much. He was brought in as a simple bodyguard in a time of concern, and he did his fucking job. He put his life on the line and killed to protect me. He deserves the honor of becoming a Made Man, and I'm willing to bestow it upon him. His new duties will resemble Demetri's old ones with the added aspect of overseeing our hired guards. They're not Outfit members, and they need to be kept at arm's length.

When I return to the penthouse, my mother is just leaving. "Edward," she says in her usual uppity way, offering me a fake kiss to my cheek. "I reported your father missing today, so you should expect someone to contact you."

My eyes narrow as they look over her, not an iota of remorse to be found. "Are you not bothered by his disappearance at all?"

She waves a nonchalant hand. "I can only assume he's ran off with his goomah, but if it's more than that, what am I supposed to say? I've begged you all to give up this dangerous lifestyle and you refuse."

I shake my head and walk the fuck away, effectively dismissing her.

I find Bella on the sofa speaking quietly into her cell. I sigh as I take a seat beside her, silently listening to her half of a conversation with Tanya, a very good friend of hers whom I've yet to meet. Though it sounds as if that might change, as their current topic of discussion is the funeral.

She slips her free hand over and searches for mine, offering me comfort with her simple touch. It works. My entire body sighs at the contact as I close my eyes and sink into the feel of our connection. It's not much, but it's all I need to remember that she's here for me.

She'll always be here for me.

After absorbing as much of her wonderfulness as I can, I slip into my office to make one final call for the day.

Caius answers on the first ring. "Boss?"

"Who else?" I ask, weariness seeping into my voice.

"What can I do ya?" he asks, his tone light.

"I'm thinking a new position is in order," I say, considering my words. "Emmett will be the new Underboss, but I think we need a middle man between him and the Capos. Are you following me?"

"Sure, Boss," he replies. "What you thinking?"

"I want that man to be you," I say pointedly. "I'd like to see you nominate a new Capo to replace you, and you take over as the boss of Capos. Maybe we'd call you the Capo Bastone, but of course, Emmett will outrank you."

"Shit!" he exclaims. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. I need operations to remain running smooth, and I trust you can facilitate that," I reply, my voice sure. "This will all be new to Emmett and I don't want to overwhelm him."

"I'm honored," he says, and he even sounds a little choked up.

"Good." I smirk. "First order of business. Get your pansy ass emotions under control."

He barks a laugh. "Got it, Boss. Anything else?"

"Be at the ceremony, and make sure the crews are present. Cullen Center, six a.m."

* * *

 **Yes, I'm the crazy who posted another story and actually decided to continue it now. I promise Operation won't skip a beat. You'll get your updates just as you have been. Since last one was a couple days early, a Monday, I decided to give this one today, and we'll move back to Wednesday with the next chapter.**

 **As a side note, I won't be writing a Mob Induction Ceremony. That's why I gave you the "who gets what position" here.**

 **See you in 2 weeks :)**


	33. Tense Goodbye

**Sunshine, 2browneyes and Ninkita pre-read this for me, and all mistakes are my own!**

* * *

 **Gore rating—0**

The induction ceremony goes as I expect—everyone keeps their fucking mouth shut and accepts my every decision. Caius nominates a long-time soldier, Jane, his cousin and now the first female Capo in the Outfit. I don't bat a fucking eye. If I'm going to expect him to keep the crews running smoothly, then I damn well better trust his choices.

Becoming the Boss is supposed to change the way I do business. I'm now the most important asset to the Outfit. The figure that must be protected above all else. My orders will extend to three people: Caius, Emmett and Demetri, and they'll ensure everyone below them is clear on their course of action. My hands must stay clean, yet with the war looming on the horizon, there's no way I can sit back and allow them to do my bidding.

I will be in the thick of it.

I will dethrone the fucking Kings.

But today, I bury my honorary aunt and uncle. Two people who have been beside me my entire life. Their roles have varied through the years, but they encouraged, taught and protected me until the very end. They dedicated their life to the Outfit, and today we allow them to rest in peace.

Feminine hands snake around my waist and warmth presses against my back, causing me to release a grateful sigh. Though we still have her lingering disappointment to work through, Bella has chosen to set it all aside and be there for me during the biggest upheaval of my life.

I tighten my tie and move my hand down to grasp hers, stepping to the side and spinning her around to face me. "You look beautifully somber," I remark, taking in her vintage Chanel dress. "Thank you for working so tirelessly on the arrangements for today."

She steps closer, her eyes dark and questioning. "Why wouldn't I?"

"This all came about so soon after …" I pause, unsure what term to use. It wasn't a fuck up, as I did it intentionally, but after hearing her point of view, I can admit it might not have been the right course of action.

"Our argument," she supplies, a hint of humor sparking in her eyes.

"Our argument," I concede with a nod. "I haven't properly had the chance to show you how much I love and need you. This situation has forced us to simply react, and you have by being my partner in every way."

She smooths her fingers over my tie, tinkering with perfection. "This is what partners do, Edward. I'm committed to us, and whether you think so or not, you have shown me your love."

"Trust me, I intend to do better in the future," I say, cupping her cheek. "You deserve to be pampered beyond your wildest dreams."

"And I'll accept that," she says, lifting onto her toes. "Once things have settled down. I know you have a lot going on right now." Her lips press firmly against mine for a blissful second before she retreats.

Her words remind me of the looming war. "We need to be vigilant today. The threat hasn't been exterminated, and we'll be sitting ducks at the graveside service."

"I trust you've taken every precaution available to keep us safe," she responds, her confidence in me not misplaced.

I've ordered the entire Outfit to be prepared for anything at this service, plus I've taken the additional step of communicating with Special Agent Swan. Our relationship will never be like the one he had with Carlisle, but in the spirit of securing his daughter's safety, he was all-too-willing to station men in the vicinity under the guise of surveillance.

"I have," I acknowledge with a tilt of my head. "But that doesn't mean I want you being complacent. If anything strikes you as odd, tell me immediately."

"Yes, sir," she barks with a salute and a smile.

I take her hand and motion toward the bedroom door. "I actually despise that title," I whisper, leaning my lips close to her ear as we head to the elevator. "I prefer Boss."

The small giggle that escapes is music to my ears on a day where not much else can bring happiness. My heart mourns for the loss of Jasper and Alice, yet it also accepts the inevitability of it all. In our line of work, death is always just one wrong move away.

The ride to the cemetery is quiet, and the amount of people gathered once we arrive is a testament to the lives they've touched. Many cars line the paved drive, and mourners dressed in black gather near the two coffins placed just before the freshly dug graves. My muscles are tense as my eyes scan the crowd. The unfamiliar faces make me wary, but the familiar ones remind me that we are the ones in fucking charge here.

Emmett and Rosalie approach as soon as he sees me, his expression guarded. "I don't like this," he states, his eyes shifting behind his square frames. "I've never met some of these people before."

I pull Bella closer to my side, his paranoia seeping into the air. "Relax, bro," I say, my tone much lighter than I feel. "Look around you." I lean closer as he scans the crowd again. "Every familiar face you see is fucking locked and loaded beneath their fancy funeral clothes. Breathe, Emmett, she's safe for today." He remains tense for another few seconds as he allows my words to settle in his mind. As he begins to relax, I murmur, "Stay vigilant but also know that you're protected."

Rosalie might as well be a princess locked in a gilded fucking tower. Emmett is so sure they're going to come for her that he's forbade her from leaving his goddamn condo in the Grizzly Armor building. And while I can understand his reasoning, because I feel the same when it comes to Bella, it's only added to my load. Midnight Sun is now being run by a temporary manager I was able to get through a hiring service. Of course, there's nothing illegal about the business, but now isn't the time to have a fucking outsider working for us.

 _Everyone_ is suspect.

The priest my mother chose to deliver the sermon steps forward and asks everyone to gather around. I lead Bella, with my bother and Rosalie close behind, to the first row of chairs, assisting her into her seat before taking my own beside her at the end of the row. In the distance, my eyes catch on a lone figure leaned against a tree, and even without binoculars like he's holding, I know it's Bella's father.

His presence unexpectedly soothes me; another set of eyes dedicated to keeping the woman at my side safe. As the priest speaks of God and the afterlife, my mind drifts to the two people who really matter. It was clear in Jasper's letter he didn't know what, if anything, awaited him beyond, but he knew he would be with his love. And this final act grants him that.

My head bows in prayer, but my eyes remain open, my senses forever on high alert. Every twitch gets my attention as the priest's voice drones on and on. It almost feels like the fucking quiet before the storm, yet as my eyes shift I see nothing out of place. Agent Swan still stands stoic positioned against an even nearer tree, the guests are lost in prayer and my hired security guards all stand on the perimeter.

Nothing seems amiss.

I'm brought back from the intense scrutiny of our surroundings as the murmurs of "Amen" echo through the crowd. Relieved that the priest has finished, I stand abruptly and dismiss him with a curt, "Thank you."

"Edward," my mother admonishes.

I ignore her as I address the crowd. "I would like to thank everyone for coming out to honor the lives of Alice and Jasper Whitlock. They were a rare breed and will be sorely missed. Now, if you'll excuse us, those of us closest to them would like some private time with them before they are lowered into the earth."

Mutterings ripple through the crowd, but no one dares to speak against my missive, and unfamiliar mourners begin to make their way back to their cars. Pleased with their compliance, I catch Emmett's eye and tilt my head toward Agent Swan. His eyes shift and he nods once, so I take Bella's hand and lead her toward the silent figure in the distance.

"Is something wrong?" she asks as we speedily walk toward her father.

"Not exactly," I reply, my eyes trained on Agent Swan. "But my senses are telling me that _something_ ' _s_ going on."

Bella pauses, her feet faltering beside me. "Is that my father?" she asks, looking from me to him.

"It is," I reply with a single nod. "I requested his presence. Now, shall we?" I motion our linked hands forward, and her feet reluctantly start moving.

Agent Swan's eyes are boring through me as we make the approach, but by the time we're standing before him, all focus has moved to his daughter and a smile has overtaken his usually serious expression. "Bella," he says, his voice gruff but reverent. "It's good to see you, but I wish it was under better circumstances."

Considering their troubled past—a lot of it to do with me—I'm unsure what to expect, but I'll never apologize for protecting her. "Daddy," she chokes out, throwing herself into his arms. "What are you doing here?"

"Surveillance." Charlie's eyes shift to me, and so do Bella's. "I already have one missing Cullen, we don't need anything happening to the rest."

"You asked him to be here, didn't you?" Bella touches my cheek. "To make sure I was safe."

I smirk. "Like I said, I took precautions."

Bella smiles and leans into my side, and it feels so fucking good. She's not at all upset about the lengths I'll go, and who knows? Maybe she and her father can find a norm in their relationship moving forward. As long as he's accepted _us_ , there's no reason to deny a connection similar to the one he shared with Carlisle.

"Everything's quiet as far as I can tell," Agent Swan says, his voice bringing my searching eyes back to him. "Nothing unusual to report in a ten-block radius."

"Something's wrong, though," I say, pensive. "I feel it."

"I have men station—" His radio crackles to life, disrupting his reassuring tone with static followed by an urgent voice.

" _Special Agent Swan, you copy?"_

"Special Agent Swan here, go ahead please."

" _We have shots fired at Midnight Sun. Repeat, shots fired at Midnight Sun!"_

"Copy that. I'm en route"

Agent Swan releases his radio and meets my eyes. "I know your instincts are screaming to run over there, but I need you to stay here. Get everyone away from here, and I'll come by your penthouse as soon as I have the details. It could just be a distraction. All your men are accounted for, right?"

"Almost everyone is present here, yes," I reply, my tone hard. "Those are innocent people in that building."

"Get this cemetery cleared, and I'll see you as soon as I can."

As much as I want to run to my car and follow him downtown, I know I can't. I'm no longer the lower man on the totem pole; it's my responsibility to make sure everyone is accounted for and put a plan into action. One that won't end in bloodshed. We have no idea if this is a fluke with horrible timing or another part in the large plan to take down the Outfit—or more specifically, me.

As Agent Swan moves swiftly away, I turn to scan over the crowd left at the graveside, but my eyes land on my mother and the priest, who're side by side, making their way to the line of cars. I tug Bella's hand and lead her toward them, already anticipating Mother's negative reaction.

"Edward, Bella," she says as we approach. "Father Cordova and I were just leaving. The atmosphere is a little _tense_ for a funeral." Her eyes cut to where my men are gathered at the service site.

"These are tense times," I say tersely before sticking two fingers in my mouth and whistling loudly. When heads turn my way, I motion for six of the hired security men to join us. Turning back to my mother, I say, "Two of these men will drive you, and two more will follow in one of the SUVs. Please go home and stay there for the time being."

"Oh, Edward," she says, waving as if I'm speaking nonsense. "This really isn't necessary. It hasn't been for a long time when it comes to me. I'm considered off limits, your father made sure of that."

"Pop is no longer around," I say, my jaw clenched tightly. "You will do as I've asked." I turn to Father Cordova. "I'd like to offer you an armed escort also."

The priest studies me for a silent moment before nodding. "If you think it is necessary, I will allow it."

"Only a precaution, but a necessity in my book."

"Very well," he replies.

I turn to the gathered men and give them their orders, standing in my spot until all four vehicles have pulled away from the cemetery. With quickened steps and a tight hold on Bella, we return to the graveside to share the news with the rest of my men. My eyes scan everyone, and once I'm sure there are no could-be spies present, I flick my fingers for Caius, Demetri and Emmett to join me, and of fucking course, Rosalie is glued to my brother's side.

"There have been shots fired at Midnight Sun," I say, my voice sharp and clear. "We don't have any details, but Agent Swan is on his way and has promised a full report. The likelihood of this being a random event is slim." I meet each of their eyes one by one. "We need to get this cemetery cleared and expect anything as we try to get back downtown. It could be a distraction, a trap or who knows what the fuck the plan is, but we need to be prepared."

"I knew it!" Emmett says, his head swiveling in every direction, fear in his eyes. "They're coming for her."

"We don't know that," I snap, refusing to feed his worst-case-scenario. "What I do know is that we need to get our asses home … safely. We're sitting ducks in the open like this."

"I say we make a procession," Caius suggests. "Unless they brought an army, there's no way they'd be stupid enough to attack a show of force like that."

I go quiet as I consider his plan. It's a fucking smart one, too. Yeah, it'll attract attention if we move as a unit through the city, but it'll also be an imposing visage. You'd have to be a fucking fool to consider attacking ten cars at once.

"I like it," I bark. "Anyone have a better idea?"

Emmett's gone quiet, his fear for Rosalie paralyzing him, but Demetri nods in agreement. "Let's do it."

"Give the orders," I snap, eyeing Demetri and Caius. "Emmett and I will take Bella and Rosalie to the vehicles. I'm anxious to get them out of the open."

My eyes fall to the two caskets, and I take a moment to silently bid farewell to two of the biggest influences over the span of my life. With my head bowed, I silently send them one final message: _The Outfit mourns the loss of two great souls, but we are content to know you are together, wherever that may be. May you rest in peace._

Taking Bella's hand, I lead her past Seth and Garrett, and I snap my fingers for them to fall in line. They aren't Outfit members, but they are personal security and I'm not stupid enough to climb into a vehicle that's been parked for hours without it being thoroughly checked over, especially with this feeling coursing through me.

"Garrett, do your magic," I say, waving toward the two Hummers parked front to rear. "Make sure there are no explosives."

His eyes light up like a kid in a candy store, and my jaw ticks. I know he doesn't mean to be so giddy when it comes to performing acts to save our lives, but getting to play with his gadgets is his favorite thing to do. I watch, every muscle within me tense as he runs a handheld scanner through and underneath each car. When he's done with the first, he takes out another item and uses it like a camera.

"It's clear, Boss," he says, attaching the last gadget to his belt.

I snatch him up by his shirt. "On my fucking life?"

"The only better thing I could use is a bomb-sniffing dog," he assures, unaffected by the coldness in my voice or harshness in my grip.

"Get in and crank the engine." I shove him away and stand still until the Hummer is running and all seems well. "Now the other one," I bark, pointing to the vehicle my brother will be riding in.

As he follows my orders, I open the door and assist Bella inside, scooting my body as close to hers as possible. Every cell with me is charged and ready to defend against an unknown threat. My muscles are coiled and prepared to strike, my monster is pacing his cage. We are in the open and vulnerable to attack.

When Seth climbs behind the driver seat, I bark, "Lay on the horn. It's time to get this show on the road."

The loud bellow breaks the tense silence and causes my men to pick up speed as they file into the other eight vehicles parked randomly along the drive. Three pull away and I instruct Seth to fall in line behind them, watching as Garrett pulls Emmett's Hummer in line behind us. The final five SUVs bring a show of force to the rear where an attack is most likely to come from.

The ride is spent in complete silence, my eyes constantly on alert as we traverse through the neighborhood and onto the Interstate. Bella leans her head against my shoulder and stays quiet, recognizing my need to protect her at all costs. My phone buzzes from inside my suit jacket, and I pull it out to read the text.

 _Two pigs taking up the rear_

I smirk and slip my phone back into my pocket, catching Bella's eye. "It seems your father has offered his own little protection detail."

Hers widen slightly. "Can he do that?"

"Not in so many words." A chuckle rumbles in my chest. "I'm sure he coined it as surveillance, considering they don't want any of us near Midnight Sun right now."

"I hope this is all a misunderstanding," she says softly, her eyes falling closed as she leans her head against my chest. "I don't want innocent people being hurt in our place."

I brush my hand along her back. "Bella," I say sternly. "They can all die if it means you get to live."

She tries to raise her head, but I press firmly against her back. "I'm sorry if you don't want to hear things like that, but it's how I feel. I love you, and your life is the most important thing in my universe."

She doesn't try to move or speak, but her quiet sniffles reach my ears just moments later. "Shhh," I soothe, my hand making gentle circuits. "I wasn't trying to make you cry."

"Sadly enough," she mumbles. "They're happy tears."

A smile ticks up on the corner of my lips, and it turns into a full-blown one of epic relief when the darkness of the garage's tunnel closes in around us. We're home. We're safe. She's safe.

As the Hummer comes to a stop in the well-lit garage, Riley comes hustling from his post, opening my door with haste. "Boss, we have a situation," he says, motioning for me to exit the vehicle. "There was an attempt on the manager's life at Midnight Sun, but one of our hired security was able to kill the suspect before anyone was hurt."

I motion for Demetri, Caius and Emmett to join us in the huddle. "Do we know who the shooter was?"

My eyes land on a wary Bella who's still seated in the Hummer. Normally, I'd send her up to the penthouse, but I'm rattled enough by this attempt that I only draw her out and press her into my side. We'll go to the penthouse after it's been cleared.

I point toward Garrett. "I need you to clear the penthouse."

"Bro," Emmett says, shaking his head. "There's no way anyone's breeched the premises."

"That's not good enough," I bark, giving him a hard look. "It never hurts to be extra fucking careful." My eyes pan back to Riley. "Tell us everything."

He shakes his head. "That's all the info I have. The cops wouldn't let me see the body, and they've taken the security guard in for questioning."

"And the acting manager?"

"She's in protective custody, for now," Riley replies.

"Security footage?" I ask, my eyes swiveling to Emmett, even though the question was for Riley.

"Pigs have it," Riley replies.

"No worries." Emmett smirks. "I'll send you a copy."

"Good." I nod, looking over the faces before me. "Any suggestions on how to proceed?"

"I think we should use this as an excuse to shut the club down for a bit. At least until the meeting in Boston," Demetri suggests, his tone thoughtful.

"And make us look like fucking wimps?" I counter.

"Better than tainting the club with death," Caius replies, lifting a brow.

"And there's no way Rosie's going back in there until Miami has been wiped off the map," Emmett adds, straightening his glasses.

"I am right here," Rosalie speaks up. "But I agree." Her wary blue eyes meet my hard green ones. "I'm scared, Edward."

Bella pinches my side softly, but her message is clear. "Fucking fine!" I snap, irritated by them all. "Have it your way. Let Miami think we're a bunch of pussies."

Caius smirks. "That'll make it even sweeter when we watch the life drain from their eyes."

* * *

 **I don't know exactly how many chapters we have left here, but as the war builds, the story winds down. My guess, 6 or 8? Just giving you the heads up.**

 **See you in 2 weeks :)**


	34. Other Plans

**Thanks to Ninkita, 2browneyes and Sunshine for everything they do. All mistakes are mine!**

* * *

 **Gore rating—0**

The vibration of my cell on the table top ceases all conversation from the people gathered in my office. "Talk to me," I bark into the line.

"Boss, Special Agent Swan is here and he's asking for entrance to your penthouse," Riley replies, his tone unsure.

"Send him up," I snap and end the call, turning my attention to the curious eyes of my men. "Let's see if he has any new information before we admit how much we know." I motion to the laptop as I circle to stand behind Emmett. "Play the fucking video again."

The scene hums to life. Emmett has taken the parts specific to this incident and merged all the camera feeds into one single video that basically shows every move the thug made. At the door, he shows ID to a couple of guards—who're getting their asses fired—but they fail to check for weapons. When the metal detector shrills an alarm, he lifts to show his large belt buckle—one I recognize—and they wave him on through like the fucking idiots they are.

The camera changes as the street scum takes a seat at the bar and orders a shot. His eyes are shifting around, and I can spot he's up to no good even in the black and white image. Lucky for us, the guys who monitor the cameras were suspicious also, because one of them left the booth and requested our security check on the fuckwit. The footage goes split screen here so we can watch simultaneously as everything unfolds within a blink of an eye.

In the same frame with the street scum is the hallway leading from the liquor storage area. Our newly hired manager appears and I watch for it—that one single knowing glance she gives the gunman as he slips a revolver from an ankle holster and stands. She braces, making no move to try and get away, but their plan goes haywire when my hired guy sweeps into the room and fires a shot, taking down the scum who fires an errant shot before hitting the floor.

The bitch manager goes into hysterics—either a good act or she knew him personally—as security piles into the room while patrons and dancers get as far from the scene as possible. The rest of the footage shows what it's supposed to; my hired guys taking control until the cops get there.

My eyes snap to Caius. "She was a plant and this was a carefully constructed plan. I want someone on this! Send a few people down to the staffing agency and give them carte blanche to do whatever the hell it takes. I want to know how the fuck she got into this position."

"Got it, Boss," he says, turning and whipping out his phone.

"Demetri," I bark, cutting my hard gaze to him. "I need you to reach out to the Wolfpack. That fucking punk was one of theirs. Let them know they're a member down, and if they don't tell you what you want to know I'll wipe them completely off the map and gladly auction off their territory to the highest bidder." I jab my pointer finger in his chest and give him a hard gaze as I pass. "Don't accept any answer that isn't the truth."

He nods, but I've already moved on, turning back to lean over Emmett's shoulder. "I want that clip of the moment the manager enters the room separated into its own little video. Then I want a second clip with a closeup of her face. Charlie will be h—" I'm cut off by the chime of the elevator.

I leave Emmett to his fucking task and start up the hallway, already hearing the murmur of voices. Bella and her father are standing just inside the foyer area, speaking to each other with serious expressions.

I pause and clear my throat. "Rosalie, could you get us a drink." As she scatters toward the kitchen, I join my life and her father, placing a fucking possessive arm around her waist and drawing her into my side. "This conversation looks too serious for my liking."

Charlie's eyes narrow. "She's my daughter, and I worry about her."

"I understand." I nod once. "But she is _mine_ to protect. I can't have a rogue agent doing rogue things in the name of protecting the most important thing in my world. We work together or not at fucking all. Got me?"

Bella places her hand on my chest, drawing my sharp gaze to hers and it softens slightly. "I've made it clear, Edward. There is no me without you."

"As much as I hate it," Charlie mumbles, smoothing his fingers across his mustache, "I have no choice but to accept it."

"Then we're on the same page," I reply, motioning toward the sofa. "Have a seat and fill me in on the shooting."

Agent Swan snorts but does as I ask. "Is it possible for me to tell you something you don't already know?"

"Try me." I shrug, doubting it very fucking seriously.

He opens his mouth to fill me in, but Rosalie appears that second with a tray of drinks. I smirk when I see my usual glass of Glenfiddich along with two bottled waters. "Thank you, Rosalie," I say, lifting the waters and passing them to Bella and Charlie before taking my glass. "Go tell Emmett to store the file on a flash drive and join us."

After a sip from the water bottle, Charlie begins sharing everything I already fucking know. The name of the shooter, his affiliation, no apparent motive. He also informs me that the security guard has been released with no charges and the manager is terrified and begging for protection from the FBI.

"How hard have you pressed her?" I ask, taking another sip from my glass.

His eyes find mine and the look in my fucking eyes tells him all he needs to fucking know. "You think she's a part of this."

"She fucking knew he was coming for her."

"Are you sure, Edward?" Bella asks, searching my face.

"Positive."

"Fuck." Charlie sighs. "You can't kill her, Edward."

"I can do what the fuck I want." I lean forward and slam my glass onto the coffee table. "But in this instance, I suspect outside forces put this in play, which is why I'm leaving it up to _you_ to find out her part."

"She's already been questioned and deemed a believable witness." Agent Swan shakes his head. "Unless I find something new, I'm no—"

"Here ya go," Emmett says, striding into the room with the flash drive. Instead of handing it to Charlie, my brother sticks it into the side of the TV and grabs the remote. "You already have the security footage, but this is Grizzly Armor footage. Clearer, sharper, better quality video all around."

There are two files on the screen: All Footage and Close Up. Emmett selects the latter and tosses the remote back on the coffee table, standing silently as we collectively watch the five seconds play on a loop. Each time, the manager bitch's face is clear and decidedly incriminating as she eyes the shooter.

"Give it here," Agent Swan says, holding out his hand. "I can press her with this, and it makes you look more cooperative for turning it over. I'm going to need to get a statement from you also, Emmett, since you're the owner." He cuts his eyes to mine. "If I can get a confession, she's off limits."

My lips purse as I consider his offer—because that's all it is, I'm the fucking Boss around here. "I'll allow her to live _if_ you bring me a copy of the interrogation tape."

Agent Swan's mustache twitches and he jabs a finger my way. "I don't like this, and it won't be the precedent for our future interactions, but I'll bring you a copy." His eyes flash to Bella before they come back to me. "Something bigger is going on here, and I want to know what it is."

My eyes, too, go to Bella, and because she means everything, I turn back to Agent Swan with a sharp nod. "Give me a few days to get all the facts and we'll schedule a meeting."

He stands. "I'll be in touch."

Bella gets up to walk him to the elevator and I keep my eyes on her gorgeous retreating form. Charlie's and my relationship was shattered before it ever got off the ground, but that's all changed now due to the same reason it was broken in the first place. We both love Bella. With her safety as a shared goal, the lines become blurred and the lengths Special Agent Charlie Swan will go to assist will become limitless.

"Boss," Demetri says as he steps into the living room. "I have information."

I motion him over as I grab my glass from the coffee table and take a swig of the smooth whiskey. "Anything good?"

"Yes." He straightens his suit jacket as he sits. "The girl was a plant; a cousin of one of the members who had managing experience. They were contacted by an unknown entity and paid a million dollars, upfront and in cash, to run the set up."

I take another swig of my whiskey as I digest this information. "So let me get this straight, this fuck was stupid enough to run a scam on _my_ property for someone he doesn't know?"

Demetri shakes his head and blows out a heavy breath. "Look, I get it. It was a stupid move, but a million dollars is big time for a nothing crew like theirs. The way they saw it, all the risk was on them. The girl was willing to take a non-deadly bullet for a hundred grand, and the shooter thought he'd get away. Now they're a man down and a poor woman's life is probably ruined."

"Probably?" I lift a fucking brow. "I just sent Agent Swan with evidence to get a confession."

"Shit." Demetri turns his wise eyes in my direction. "You need to stop him, Edward. I know we're a cut-throat organization, but this woman had no idea what she was getting into when it comes to the Outfit. She probably has kids."

My eyes narrow, and I kill off my whiskey. "You want me to let her off clean?"

"I want you to take down the real offenders here," he counters, lifting a daring brow. "This has to be a Miami stunt, but what worries me is how did they know about the hiring agency? Where are they getting this info? That needs to be our focus, not punishing this nothing crew." At my hardened expression, he holds up a hand. "Think about it, Edward. If all goes to plan, we think it's Miami trying to get to Rosalie, but if anything goes awry, as it did, we turn our attention to our own streets and become distracted with punishment. Either way, our focus has been interrupted. We _can't_ let them lead us around by a string."

My jaw is clenched so fucking tightly my teeth feel like they might shatter under the pressure. Lenience is not my forte, and it goes against every particle within me, but I chose Demetri as Consigliere for a reason. He's a wise old man who's been in this game for a long fucking time.

"What kind of message does that send to the other wannabes in Chicago?" I ask, slamming the empty glass on the coffee table. "If I let this pa—"

"I've already thought of that," he breaks in, earning a harsh glare. " _Use_ this, Edward. Let's get the word on the streets so if they try it again, the next crew will come _to_ us instead of making a move against us."

"The Outfit rules from fear, Demetri," I snarl, standing to pace off some of the angry energy before I use it against him. "Death and destruction awaits if you chose to go against us, and you want me to give someone a pass?"

"That's my counsel," he says, standing. "Just think before you act, son. I'm heading home and we'll meet again tomorrow. We'll be in Boston in two days. We can end this as long as you keep your cool."

Before I can reply, Caius enters from the hallway. "Boss, nothing new from the agency. They say they sent the most qualified candidate they had available. We pressed them hard."

I growl, tugging on the ends of my hair. "I know who's responsible. Tell our guys to back off."

"Tomorrow." Demetri tilts his head in approval and moves toward the elevator.

"So who're we going after?" Caius asks, plopping down on the sofa.

I shake my head and pace several more times before lifting my empty whiskey glass and slinging it into the wall, shattering it into a million tiny shards. "No one. For now, anyway. This shit is on Miami and our focus needs to remain there."

Caius stands, his eyes questioning. "Are you sure about that?"

"No," I snap, kicking the fucking coffee table. "But this is my decision … for now."

"Eh, you're the Boss," he says with a shrug. "Call me if ya change your mind and want some skulls cracked."

As Caius leaves, I turn to the three bodies in my peripheral vision. Emmett, Rosalie and Bella are all standing around, looking on with wide eyes. "What?"

"Everything okay?" Emmett asks, taking Rosalie's hand and moving toward me.

"Is it ever?" I scrub my fingers through my hair and sit in the closest chair with a sigh. "It will be. I want you to go find out how Miami knew I'd be calling a hiring agency for a new manager."

"You think this was them?" he asks, baby blues wide behind his glasses.

"Who else." I shrug, fucking over it all.

Rosalie clears her throat. "I've used that hiring agency many times in the past for Midnight Sun."

My eyes narrow as I consider this shit. "How much of Esme's deceit have you been able to dig through?" I ask Emmett, my mind working to form a likely scenario. "It's possible the name of the company was passed along by her, but that still doesn't tell us how they knew about the manager position."

"Not all of it," he replies, shifting his glasses. "I can run a search using the hiring agency's name, and if it's there it'll come up." He pauses, his extra-large brain working overtime. "Do you think it's possible they didn't care which position? Any employee shooting would send us a message."

"No." I shake my head. "Demetri's intel proved they knew it was the fucking manager position. Pore over Esme's last few communications. If she was the source of the info, it had to be right before her death. I need answers before I leave for Boston on Saturday morning."

"I'm on it," he replies, dragging Rosalie toward the elevator like a man on a mission, and he better fucking be.

Bella perches on the arm of my chair and smooths down my tug-crazy hair. "Anything I can do to help?"

I run my hand up her smooth thigh and grip her slender waist. "Why don't you get ready for bed. I need to make a couple of calls and I'll be in shortly."

She palms my cheek and her dark chocolate eyes pin me to my spot. "I love you, Edward." She replaces her hand with her lips and then softly skims them to my ear. "Don't make me wait too long."

I sit, slack-jawed, and watch her sway across the room, disappearing down the hall. Mother of fuck. A surge of adrenaline spikes through me, and I quickly dig my phone from my inside pocket and pull up Agent Swan's number.

" _Edward_ ," he answers.

"Cut the broad loose," I say, quick and to the point. "No charges. As a matter of fact, have her send her resume to Grizzly Armor."

Charlie snorts. _"What, you looking to give her a job now?"_

"I think I might," I say thoughtfully. "She could be a good replacement for Rosalie in the future. Now that she's aware of who she's fucking with, I don't see her being stupid again."

" _If you think I'm going to just hand her over so you can take care of her, you've lost your damn mind,"_ Charlie says incredulously.

"Good old Agent Swan." I bark a laugh. "I give you my word, she's in no danger."

" _What in the hell is going on, Edward!"_ he hisses into the line. _"I want answers!"_

"We'll meet next week," I say, ending the call.

The next call I make is to Jenks. During it, I demand he compile all the Miami information he's collected since I asked him to investigate and get it to me … tomorrow.

Tonight, I have other plans.

I stand and stalk toward the master suite, loosening my tie as I go. My hands are fucking jittery and my heart is racing inside my goddamn chest. I know an invitation when I hear one, and I'm not about to turn down the opportunity to show Bella everything I feel for her.

We had beautiful once, and I was too fucked up to embrace it, but not this time. It won't be instant lust in an alley fucking against a nasty brick wall. It won't be possessive angry fucking for all of Chicago to witness. It won't be a man hiding in dreamland to deny what he feels.

It'll be pure fucking worship.

As I enter the bedroom, my feet come to a pause. Bella's clothes are littered across the floor, leading to the open bathroom door where the sound of running water and the sight of billowy steam beckons. I'm frozen where I stand, digging deep for the courage to follow her lead, and it only takes a handful of seconds.

I strip as I go, dropping my pants and briefs at the threshold and inhaling a huge gust of Bella-scented steam. The vapor turns to water droplets and settles on my tongue giving me the first taste of her wet skin. My swollen cock throbs, and my hands ache to roam the nude body on the other side of the glass.

Each step is measured as I approach the enclosure, restraining. I know how to fuck, to possess, to make a woman scream my name, but using my body to show her she's everything is new and foreign. It's an experiment of the heart, and I don't want to fuck it up. I _can't_ fuck it up.

I don't say anything as I pull open the door to step inside, and she doesn't react to my presence. My eyes burn across her flesh, following the countless rivers that trail down her sinful body. Without a word, I lift the shampoo and squirt some in my hand, motioning for her to turn around. Her ass brushes against my cock and it jumps, seeking her body like a divining rod, but I tamp down the urge to slam her against the wall and take her right fucking here.

As gently as a lamb, I soap her hair, massaging deeply into her scalp and fucking biting my bottom lip at her hums of pleasure. I almost give into my baser instincts, but sanity prevails and I push her under the rainfall spray. Using her momentary distraction, I wet my hair with one of the side jets and wash my own hair. When she steps away from the spray, the full length of her body comes flush against mine, and I groan before getting myself under control and spinning her again.

This time it's conditioner I apply, working it in thoroughly and piling her hair atop her head in a squishy bun. As it sits, I grab her favorite body wash and use my hands to torture her silently. My eyes remain on her face as my hands roam her perfect skin. The bliss reflected there is almost enough to bring me to my knees. Her folds are slick with want and soap, allowing my fingers to glide effortlessly against her. Only enough to entice, never enough to satisfy.

Her thighs tense, warning me of her building ecstasy, and I pull away abruptly, steering her back under the spray. She rinses in dissatisfied bewilderment, and I use the small amount of time to soap my own body as quickly as possible. A hiss escapes as I fist my cock, drawing her eyes to the act, and they become predatory. Knowing playtime is over, I step under the spay with her, pushing our bodies together and holding her tightly against me as the rainfall washes everything away.

I hit the off button and the pouring water diminishes, leaving two bodies that need no instruction. I wring her sopping hair without a word, and her fingers dance around my sides to clasp at my lower back, holding me impossibly closer. My cock pulses and throbs between us, but the holy grail is in for a long wait tonight. There's so much more worshipping to be done.

When her hair is sufficiently less-sopping for what I have in mind, I sweep her off her feet and into my arms bridal style. She gasps at the sudden movement and grips tightly onto my neck but otherwise, she doesn't question me until I approach the bed.

"What are you doing?" She looks to the bed and back to me with slightly panicked eyes. "We're soaking wet. It'll ruin your comforter."

A husky chuckle escapes before I can stop it. "It's not a comforter, it's an eiderdown duvet, but fuck it. I can buy another. Right now, I intend to spread you across that eight thousand dollar luxury and lick every tasty drop of water from your delectable fucking skin."

"Fuck," she whispers, her breaths heavy.

I prop my knee on the bed and move toward the center, depositing her gently against the pillows. A drop of water rolls down her cheek, and I swipe my tongue across it and continue to her mouth where she opens eagerly and takes me inside. The dance is deep and erotic and hungry. Too much, not enough and just fucking right.

I pull away abruptly and hold up a finger. "One second."

Her skin is pinkened with heat and she squirms, rubbing her thighs together. I quickly turn off all the lights and lighten the window shades. The bright lights of Chicago provide a scenic backdrop and allow just enough light so I can see her beautiful expression as I pleasure her to the ends of the Earth.

By the time I return to the bed, my cock leading the way, she's already palming her breasts as her hips swivel to the movements. I move in from the foot, capturing one long leg and burning a trail with my tongue from her ankle to her thigh. With every second that passes, the droplets disappear as I inhale her very essence.

"Dimmi come ti paice," I murmur against her skin, begging her to _tell me how she likes it_ , but she has no idea what I'm saying and she doesn't care. The Italian drives her fucking mad with want and she writhes beneath my tongue. Her stomach, breasts, neck and arms all receive the same attention as I worship at the altar of my goddess.

"Sono pronto per te," _I'm ready for you,_ I mumble between licks and sucks.

Her hand fists my hair and she pulls me up to face her. "Please. I can't …"

I move in for a kiss to quell her desperation and break it off abruptly, my tongue trailing downward as I make the journey to her center. The water droplets have all evaporated in the heat, but wetness is everywhere and I want to inhale every drop.

I mumble random thoughts in Italian between long, slow licks and harsh nibbles. Her thighs have me pinned in place and this is where I want to die. She tastes like a fresh kill feels, igniting a new kind of adrenaline within me and I lose it for a second. Riding the wave, I thrust and lick and tug at a frenzied pace until she falls into the abyss around my tongue.

The atmosphere settles around me, and I come back to my senses. With slow, languid licks and nips, I work my way back across the flat panes of her abdomen and up her chest, between her breasts, as she fights to gain control of her breathing. I continue up her neck and to her lips where I place a soft kiss before bracing myself above her.

"Farò l'amore con te, solare," I whisper, my lips near her ear, informing her that _I'm going to make love to her now_.

I fist my cock, propped on one elbow. "Amore lento e dolce." _(Slow, sweet love)_

Her wetness coats me and her heat envelops me as I push inside. Her thighs clamp onto my legs and her arms settle on my sides. Her dark eyes are open and on me as I start to move within her at a slow and easy pace. Each action is met with her own reaction and even as there's nothing frantic in our movements, the passion builds with each pass. Never in my life has something so basic felt so fucking good.

"Ti amo più della vita," I grunt out, telling her _I love her more than life_ as the tightening in my stomach begins to build.

"More," she pants, her eyes falling closed.

"Sei tutto per me," I mumble, telling her _she's everything to me_. "Voglio passare il resto della mia vita sepolto dentro di te." _(I want to spend the rest of my life buried inside you)_

Her breathing stutters and low moan escapes between barely parted lips. "More."

"Sei una dea," I utter between nips to her jaw. _(You are a goddess)_

"Mi fai sentire complete." _(You make me feel complete)_

"La mia vita è tua." _(My life is yours)_

Her nails dig into my flesh as her back arches, and my pace quickens. The moans and mewls are steady now and her legs have locked around me like a fucking vise. She's only holding on by a single thread, so I place my lips to her ear.

"Vieni per me, solare," I beg in a harsh whisper, pleading for her to _come_.

Her walls start quivering and pulsating around me, and she clings to me like a lifeline. My vision goes fuzzy as a rose hue creeps in and begins to surround us. I don't question it. I don't think I'm imagining anything. I know it's real and it's coming from within. Our love is palpable, filling the air with beauty.

My own thread snaps and suddenly I'm falling into an oblivious wasteland of emotion. Time has no meaning. Life has no meaning. The only things that matter are me, the love of my life and this blissful ecstasy.

I never want it to end.

* * *

 **Full circles for our lovers, and it feels like the quiet before the storm.**

 **See you in 2 weeks :)**


	35. All Set

**Sunshine and 2browneyes pre-read this for me. All mistakes are mine!**

* * *

 **Gore rating—0**

Friday morning dawns with Emmett banging on my bedroom door way too fucking early, but if he's here, he's got important shit to share. I kiss Bella's neck and mutter for her to "go back to sleep" before tossing on a pair of Versace briefs and my silk robe. As I come up the hall, the smell of fresh-brewed coffee fills my nostrils, drawing me toward the kitchen.

Emmett's seated at the bar with an open folder in front of him and a cup of too-white coffee in his hand. He lifts his eyes, and he looks like shit. Dark circles line the lower rim of his glasses and his baby blue are red and tired.

"You look like shit." I pour a cup of the steaming brew and approach him. "But I take that to mean you have me some fucking answers."

"Sort of," he answers, blowing out a heavy breath and shoving four pieces of paper my way. "Two of those are old emails; the first is an exchange about Rose, her job at the club, the hiring agency is even mentioned under important details about Midnight Sun and a picture of her is included. The second is a small exchange where Esme is briefed on Rose's real identity and encouraged to befriend her." He claws a hand through his messy curls. "But that's also the problem. I can't find any future mentions of Rose or anything relating to this request."

"What about the other two?" I bark, lifting the next piece of paper and scanning the date and content. "This was the day Esme died."

"Exactly," he concurs with a nod. "It's a feeler email. Looks like maybe Esme missed a contact, and they were reaching out. Nothing incriminating, almost like a code sentence." He grabs the last piece of paper and shoves it into my hands. "But this one, although also a code, definitely reads like her non-answer put something in motion."

My eyes move from him to the piece of paper, dated two days after Esme's death. _Vengeance for your loss. The sun will no longer rise._

"There were four days between this email and the shooting at Midnight Sun," I murmur, mostly to myself, as I try to work through this cryptic bullshit. "The sun reference is a given, but did they really have enough time? And how did _we_ time it perfectly to match their plan?"

"Think, Edward." Emmett taps his temple. "It was Jasper's death that set everything in motion. Esme's penance, which led to her failure to reply to these emails, and _my_ fear for Rosie's life, which led to her abandoning Midnight Sun. I don't think it's a very far leap at all to assume we'd need a new manager." He pauses, tapping his chin in thought. "My only real concern is there's another conversation somewhere that we don't have here. Very pertinent information is both eluded to and excluded from this string of conversation."

My jaw fucking tightens as his words circle around my brain. "Almost like we were meant to gain access to this information."

Emmett shrugs. "Maybe not meant per se, but if information ended up being sacrificed, _this_ is what they wanted us to see."

I rip the sheet to shreds and follow through in my fit of rage by doing the same to the other three pieces. "Fuck this shit!" I yell, slamming my hand on the bar as tiny pieces of paper flutter to my pristine floors. "They're trying to guide us by a fucking string, just as Demetri suggested. Well, not any-fucking-more." I get up and start pacing, my fists opening and closing steadily to try and work through some of the tension. "I'll make my intentions clear in Boston tomorrow, and by Tuesday, Miami will be a problem of the past."

"You really think it's going to be that easy?" He gets up and stands before me, delivering a derisive snort. "These fuckers are playing the long game, as has been proven time and again. They're ready for us, Edward."

"Then it'll just be a bloody battle in the streets," I snarl, disgusted that he has no faith in my skill or the skill of my men. "Royce and Ronald King will die, and it'll be at my hand."

"My brother, the charging mule," he spits, literally almost spits. Fucker. "You go do your thing, whatever that may be, and I'll stay here and make sure both of our women live to see another day whether you return or not."

I turn away to keep from slugging him, but he does have a point when it comes down to it. Bella, and I fucking guess Rosalie too, will need to be protected while I'm off eliminating the threat. I'm both disappointed that he has so little faith in me and appreciative at the same time.

I pace a few rounds to work off the conflicting emotions and turn back to him, grasping his shoulder tightly. "You're right. Bella will have to be taken care of, and I trust you to do an exemplary job, but make no mistake about it; I _will_ return for her."

His eyes fill with moisture, and it reminds me so much of when we were kids. This is the Emmett I've always known. He's fucking terrified of what's to come. "Please do that, brother. I'm not ready to lead this organization."

"Like I'd ever put you in that position." I laugh, making it sound lighter and freer than I feel. "Bella and I will return from Boston first thing Sunday. We'll spend the day on a plan for both taking them out and protecting the women."

"The penthouse, Edward." Emmett widens his arms. "It's impenetrable. I can lock this baby down and no one can leave or enter without my express consent."

I scan my eyes over the place, taking note of all the windows that provide such an extravagant view. "Not even through those?" I ask, pointing to them.

"Not even through those," Emmett replies with a smirk. "Do you really think I'd allow any stone left unturned when this penthouse was designed? It's a fortress for a reason."

"All right," I concede with a nod. "But I'll still keep the building under heavy guard."

"Sounds like a plan." He stifles a yawn.

Without thought, I reach over and hug him tightly. "Thanks for working through the night. Get home and rest." I pull away, my brow furrowing with a new thought. "Maybe you and Rose should stay here while we're gone."

"Eh, maybe." He shrugs. "We'll talk before you leave in the morning."

"Sounds good."

As Emmett makes his way to the elevator, I head to the kitchen. Since I'm up, I might as well make myself useful by reminding Bella I can be thoughtful. I've tried this shit before and it wasn't very successful due to interfering relatives, but maybe this time can be different.

I work on freshly squeezed orange juice in between making omelets and toasted, buttery brioche. Once everything is done, I grab a wooden tray and load the two plates along with two glasses of juice. Just as I go to lift it, the flower arrangement on the bar causes me to pause, and I look through the cabinet for something vase-like. When I'm satisfied with the vessel, I add water and turn to the bar to select the perfect bloom.

The clearing of Bella's throat nearly causes me to jump out of my skin. Not jump in a scared way—I'm never scared—but I somehow feel like I've been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. The romantic cookie jar, and that's not really me.

I gather myself and turn to her, my eyes greedily taking in her long, bare legs. She's wearing one of my shirts with only two of the buttons closed, exposing way too much fucking skin and not enough at the same time.

"Good morning," I say when I finally drag my eyes to hers. "I was just about to wake you." I motion to the tray of food still sitting by the stove.

"Smells good," she says, barely offering it a glance. "But I'm not really hungry." She takes a slow step closer and her eyes are fucking predatory. Lucky for her, I'm a willing ass prey. "For food, that is."

I toss the knife and flower to the floor and go to her, skimming my hands beneath the shirt to her bare ass beneath. With a fucking growl, I lift her and pivot to the bar, my mind recalling and eerily similar scene; except this time, there'll be no interruption. The buttons scatter across the marble as I rip open her shirt, and my robe falls limp at my sides as her fingers tug the tie.

Fuck the food.

Two hours later, we're finally settled at the bar, eating cold toast and drinking lukewarm orange juice. Our scant clothing is back in place, and my eyes constantly trail to the swell of Bella's fucking gorgeous tits. The morning is almost perfect, and I can't wait to get this goddamn war behind us so every day can start this way.

"What has you thinking so hard?" Bella asks, trailing her finger across my thigh, just past the edge of my robe.

I grab her hand to prevent her from roaming _too_ close—not that I couldn't go again—and give her a crooked grin. "I was actually thinking about the future. How I want every morning to be like this one."

"But," she prompts, angling toward me which causes her shirt to reveal more of her left tit since it's only buttoned at the bottom.

"You're very insightful." I shake my head, my grin lifting into a smirk. "That future's not truly feasible until the threat has been taken care of."

"Ahh," she murmurs, leaning close to whisper in my ear. "I'll still be here long after the threat has been wiped from existence." Her teeth latch onto my lobe and she tugs, sending a growl from my lips and a twitch beneath my robe.

"Fuck!" I grab her head and attack her neck, my lips, tongue and teeth seeking to take control and conquer.

Just as I'm ready to rip her shirt open a second time, the fucking house phone rings through the sound system, causing my head to drop against her shoulder in defeat.

"Ignore it," she pants, attempting to guide my lips to hers.

"I can't," I mutter, pulling back to look into her dark eyes. "House calls are always important."

As I get up to answer the phone, she seeks to tidy her errant clothes as best as she can. "This better be fucking important," I bark into the line.

"Boss," Jenks says. "I'm in the lobby with the information you requested."

"Why didn't you call my cell?" I demand, my eyes straying to Bella as she stands and approaches me with concern.

"I did," he replies. "Several times."

"Fine," I snap, motioning her closer. "I'll send the elevator down." I hit the off button and take Bella in my arms. "That was Jenks. He's delivering urgent information before the meeting tomorrow. Why don't you get dressed and I'll be in as soon as he leaves to show you what clothes I'll need packed for the trip. The rest of my day will likely be spent in my office."

She nods and lifts her head, and her eyes are sparking with mirth so I expect a smartass remark. "Will you pick my clothes too, please, sir." She's batting her lashes ridiculously fast and speaking in such a non-Bella tone that I can do nothing but bark a laugh.

"If you wish." I smirk and kiss her pretty mouth. "Go. I need to send the elevator down." I smack her luscious ass and send her on her way—well, I do stare at the sway of her hips for another minute before finally turning toward the elevator with a sigh.

Jenks' visit is short, but the binder he leaves behind is large and filled with tons of information. After my initial glance, I want to sit immediately and start poring over the material, but I refrain and tuck it under my arm as I head to the bedroom.

After selecting my clothing and suggesting some things for Bella, I retire to my office. The next four hours are spent studying every little detail on every single fucking person associated with the Miami Mob. Once I have a general overview of how they operate, I mark motherfuckers for death. Anyone close to the leadership will need to be iced and then I can select a strong, suitable candidate to become the new Boss.

Late in the evening, Bella comes through the door with a sandwich and chips. "Knock, knock," she says, approaching hesitantly. "I thought you might be hungry." She places the plate on the corner of my desk and stands there quietly.

"Thanks," I tell her, rocking back in my chair. "I'd rather hold you for a minute." I flick two fingers and pat my leg.

She smiles softly as she perches on my lap and nestles her face into my neck. "You've been in here a long time."

"I have," I murmur, running my hand down her back. "I still have a while to go. This meeting is crucial, and I have to be prepared."

"I'm not sure I understand the logistics," she replies, lifting her head to look me in the eye. "Do you need their _permission_?"

"Fuck no!" I snap, but that's bullshit. In a fucked up way, I sort of do. I heave a heavy fucking sigh. "In a way, I do. Even though our organizations all run independently, we live by certain codes and even sometimes join in mixed ventures. So, as you can imagine, there are certain guidelines we live by when one organization feels wronged by another. It's essentially forbidden to take out the leadership of another organization."

"Oddly enough, that makes a lot of sense," she replies, her expression thoughtful. "By having those protections in place, it prevents one organization from basically infiltrating every other organization and becoming a super-mob, of sorts."

I chuckle at her term, but she's hit the nail on the goddamn head. "Not in those words exactly, but yes, that's the basic principle."

"Do you think they're going to allow it?" Her eyes are dark and very interested in my response.

"They don't have a fucking choice," I say a little snider than I should. "I'm going to be respectful and insistent, but if that doesn't work then I have no issue switching my tactics to defiant. The Miami organization, as it is now, is fucking done."

"Should I worry while you're in this meeting?"

"Not in the least."

"Okay," she replies, leaning in to press a soft kiss to my cheek. "I'm going to double check our bags and take a shower." She stands, brushing her fingers along my jaw. "Wake me when you come to bed."

I smirk, giving her a heated once-over. "Definitely."

After watching her saunter from the room, I get back to work on choosing the leading trio of the new Miami Mob. Their structure is similar to the Outfit, except they have six crews, with two of them overseeing practices heavily fucking frowned upon by most of the American mob organizations. Both of those crews will be dissolved, their Capos among the dead, and the soldiers will be left with the option to choose loyalty to the new leadership or fucking death.

With five targets scheduled for execution and three others selected for leadership replacement, I'm ready to put my winning proposal together. I spend the next couple hours making copies of crucial documents and compiling a folder for each Boss. Confident in my arguing skills, all I can do now is present my fucking case.

And if that doesn't work, there's always Plan B—go rogue and kill the motherfuckers anyway.

I slip the folders into my briefcase and turn out the light as I head to the shower. With business behind me, I can look forward to what the rest of the night will bring. What I find when I finally slip beneath the duvet is naked skin and a groggy, but warm and willing, partner.

The alarm clock blares early as fuck the next morning, but instead of feeling tired, I feel fucking determined. Bella and I are up and dressed in no time with our bags sitting by the elevator.

My phone buzzes and I pull it from my inside pocket. "Any new information I need to know before I leave?" I say in lieu of hello.

Emmett chuckles, and it's much lighter than when I last spoke with him. "Nothing on my end, though I'd love to get a look at the stuff from Jenks."

"The master file is in my office, you're welcome to it," I reply. "Why don't you and Rosalie come stay in the penthouse and you can go over it while you're here."

"Nah," he says, and I can picture his nonchalant head shake. "I'll come over and pick it up in a little while, if that's okay. You're only going to be gone overnight, and I'll probably do some work at Grizzly."

"You're going to leave Rosalie alone?" I say in mock horror.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he says with a chuckle. "She'll be guarded the same as she has been. It's not like I'm some badass who can save the girl with his bare hands."

"You never know," I muse, picturing the Emmett I remember from Esme's execution. "The right motivation can turn almost anyone into a badass."

"Or get a dumbass killed," he responds with humor. "I trust the protection detail to take good care of her."

"They do get paid well," I agree, my eyes catching on Bella as she taps her wrist. "Looks like it's show time. I'll call you after the meeting."

I end the call with Emmett and join Bella at the elevator. She grabs the small bag and I take the larger suitcase. The ride down is spent with light-hearted teasing as we both ignore the mounting tension. In the garage, Demetri, Caius and three crew members are awaiting us beside two black SUVs driven by Seth and Garrett.

After helping Bella inside one of them, I turn to Riley. "I want this garage locked down as soon as Seth and Garrett return. No one enters and no one leaves. Station men in the lobby of Cullen Place, as usual, but I want the bulk of security at Grizzly HQ as my brother and Rosalie are staying there."

"You got it, Boss," he replies, snapping into work mode. "Would you like me to take up post over there since it'll be quiet here?"

I nod as I consider this. "Contact Emmett and tell him I said to set you up at Grizzly Armor. You can do overall surveillance from there and keep an eye on Emmett while you're at it."

"Will do."

On the plane ride, Demetri, Caius and I discuss strategy while looking through the folder of information I plan to share. Both for the meeting, which Demetri will attend at my side, and for Caius and the soldiers whose primary role is personal security. It's highly unlikely that a meeting such as this will produce disastrous results, like you might see in a movie with everyone being fucking slaughtered, but it always pays to be cautious.

"I want two soldiers stationed with Bella," I say, nodding to the men several rows back. "And, Caius, you'll keep one and wait outside the meeting room with the other Boss' men to keep an eye on things. I trust your judgement enough that if anything smells off, you'll spot it."

"Jacob Swanatori has insisted the security of everyone in our party is guaranteed by Killa Masen himself," Demetri says, interrupting my thought process. "Of course, trust is earned, but from what I've been able to glean, I believe Mr. Masen has already made up his mind to back our request."

"You _believe_ , or you know?" I snap, irritated that his diplomatic demeanor doesn't align as well with my brash approach as I originally thought. "Because that can be the difference between life and death."

"Edward," he says, and it almost sounds like an admonishment. "Son, I've been working very hard and very closely with top men in each organization to set up this meeting. I've stated our reasons and intentions clearly. At this point, I can assure you full support from everyone, except Vegas. Boston and Seattle both see this meeting as a formality and nothing more."

"Why is Vegas resisting, then?" I ask, still skeptical but wanting to trust his judgement. I _should_ trust his judgement. I chose him for this position because I fucking knew I could count on him to offer wise advice.

Taking it is another matter entirely.

"My best guess is they share a common enterprise with Miami." He lifts a brow as he waits for me to figure it out. When I do, he smiles knowingly. "Now you see why they might be opposed? What's to stop us from going after them next, citing our distaste for one of their money-making channels."

"Maybe we will," I muse, disgusted that any organization would make a living off the backs of stolen children.

"One thing at a time, Boss," he says, closing his folder and handing it over. "I know Bella's safety is paramount for you, and I promise it has been addressed. Killa Masen's wife was kidnapped five months ago by his own brother, so he understands your concern and has vowed to protect her with all the power of his organization."

"Is the motherfucker dead?" I ask, lifting a brow in both shock and seriousness. If the rogue brother isn't dead, then I can't trust Killa with shit.

"Very," Demetri supplies.

"The soldiers will still stand as her guards," I reply, my voice hard.

"I never expected anything else," Demetri says, smirking.

The plane touches down not long after we're done, and as arranged, several SUVs are already awaiting us near the runway. I quickly lead Bella from the plane and toward one of them, until a voice calls my name.

I pause momentarily and turn toward a tall, dark-haired man. "Mr. Cullen," he says, holding out his hand. "My name is Jacob Swanatori, and Killa has sent me to escort you to your overnight accommodations."

I look from his still untouched hand to his eyes. "My men are capable of navigating to an address." I turn away, ready to pick up Bella and run her in the other direction. Unfamiliar faces make me wary as fuck.

"Molto bene, farò in modo di arrivare in sicurezza," he replies, _telling me he'll make sure we arrive safely_.

I pause and glance back at him, the Italian somehow comforting. "Grazie."

Demetri greets Jacob like an old friend, which feels fucking strange, but I suppose there _is_ familiarity there, as they've been in steady contact over the past week and a half. The name Swanatori is notorious, as Charles "The Chief" Swanatori is the retired Boss of the New York Italian Mob. He initiated the merger with the Irish, or more specifically the Masens of Boston, by agreeing to an arranged marriage between his daughter and Killa Masen, who's now the sole Boss of both organizations.

That makes them powerful—along the East coast—but that doesn't mean I shouldn't be leery as fuck. A concentration of power like this, almost all the Bosses gathered in such a small vicinity, has the potential for serious consequences if we aren't vigilant, so until I've made my own personal assessment, everyone is suspect.

Thirty minutes later, we're settled into a three-bedroom, high-rise condo in Boston, and the meeting is scheduled to happen twenty floors below in a little over an hour. I prepare my men by making sure everyone has their marching orders, and then I double check my briefcase to ensure all the files are in order.

The doorbell buzzes, and Caius cautiously approaches with his gun at the ready before looking through the peephole and standing down. He opens the door, and Jacob stands on the other side. "I'm here to see Mr. Cullen."

I push Bella behind me and take a couple steps toward the door. "Can I help you?"

"I'm here on behalf of Killa," he says, looking me in the eye. "He's requested a private meeting to discuss Ms. Swan's security." He pauses and peers around me to Bella. "Both of you."

Agreeing to this craziness nearly fucking kills me, but I eventually give in to Demetri's prompting as he insists we won't be in any fucking danger. We follow Jacob into the hallway, and as he speaks, I realize Killa's home is only two doors away. Now I feel fucking stupid for being so suspicious—no Boss would kill another in his home.

Jacob motions to the door and steps back, tilting his head down the hall. "I'll join the guards at the elevator."

He walks toward two armed men already stationed at the end of the hall, and I shift my eyes to my beautiful Bella. "You sure you're okay with this? I promise nothing is going to happen to you."

"I'll always trust you to keep me safe," she replies, fingering the Glock at my waistband. "I also trust Dem's judgement." I roll my fucking eyes, albeit playfully, and she lets out a small giggle. "You know you do, too, or we wouldn't be stan—"

The door swings open, interrupting her. "What took so fucking long?"

* * *

 **Whether you've read the O/S "Killa Saves the Bee" or not, I tried to make sure all the info you need to know about them as characters is here. For those who have read it, I hope the timing is clear now? This is 5 months after the end of the O/S.**

 **Now, onto better/worse news. The better is that I'll be meeting Ceceprincess1217 (Killa/Bee author) and Sunshine1220 tomorrow to spend an afternoon with them ahead of the TFMU! The worse is that I haven't written a word this week and won't be home tomorrow, so it may push both my stories back 1 week. TSB may be a week late and the next O chapter may take 3. I'll try my very best not to, but it's looking like a possibility. I apologize if it happens, but also know, we're closing in on big action with a swift ending afterward.**

 **See you as soon as I can :)**


	36. Meet the Masens

**Sunshine, Ninkita and 2browneyes are kind enough to read this for me. All mistakes are mine!**

 *****A Few Facts, crossover edition*****

 **It is NOT necessary to be reading both Operation and Killa & Bee. Everything you need to know about the characters used in each story is contained within the separate fics. Though, you def should cause they're awesome! **

**Operation is currently in Summer 2017, while K &B (the story) is in 2013. The Oneshot, Killa Saves the Bee, ended 5 months ago Operation time. Everything here is post-oneshot. **

**The basic idea of the crossover is that both fics are utilizing the same Mob network across the US.**

 **Irish/Italian(Boston/NY)—The Masen/Swanatori family**

 **Chicago Outfit—The Cullens**

 **Miami—The Kings (current boss, Ronald, Roger's son and Royce's brother)**

 **Seattle—The Quileutes**

 **Vegas—The Denalis**

* * *

 **Gore rating—0**

 **Swear rating—11**

I take a half-step over to cover Bella with my body as my eyes narrow at the motherfucker who thinks it's okay to speak to us that way, but they soften—just fucking slightly—when I realize it's not only him. There's a woman at his side, presumably his wife and even more notably, she has her hand propped atop a round bump that protrudes from her midsection.

She's a small woman, akin to Bella in size, but that's where the fucking similarities end, other than both having dark brown eyes. Where my Bella has the lithe body of a dancer with long graceful limbs, this woman is physically fit in a different way, even with the bump. The cuts in her muscles speak of martial arts or kickboxing training, and the fucking deadly glint in her eyes back up that notion. Bella's hair is long, wavy and auburn, almost reaching her ass, where this woman's is just past shoulder length and cut in layers with thick streaks of red scattered throughout. Her skin has been kissed by the summer sun and her face is slightly more rounded—though that could be due to the bun in the oven.

My once-over takes only seconds, and I'm quick to focus my gaze back on the man. The Boss of the East Coast Irish/Italian Mafia. Killa Masen. My first thought is about his age, younger than I expected, several fucking years younger than me. We're similar in height and both have green eyes, though his are a few shades darker than mine. The same goes for his hair. It's a little fucking messier than I prefer, and though we both have a bronze tint, the red gleams much brighter in his. My perfectly proportioned face is in sharp contrast to his glaring imperfection—a bump on his nose where someone has broken it before. He's wearing a custom-fitted suit, not from a designer I recognize—shocking, I know—with the emblem of a bee on the jacket sleeve.

Only a handful of seconds later and satisfied Bella isn't in any immediate danger, I shift and put my arm around her back to bring her to my side. "Killa Masen, I presume?" I say, my tone all fucking business.

"Don't forget my sexy as fuck wife, Bee," he says, waving a hand to the woman at his side. "I'd like for the four of us to speak before this meeting gets underway."

Bella nudges my side and I glance at her, receiving the "be nice" look along with an encouraging smile. My jaw tightens, but I offer the fucker a nod anyway. "That's what we're here for."

The stiffness between us must become too much because Bee Masen takes it upon herself to move things forward more rapidly. She rolls her eyes and steps forward, reaching for Bella's arm. "Why don't you come inside with me while these two cocksuckers get their shit together." Bella holds back a giggle as she gives me an unapologetic shrug and follows the woman like a fucking lap dog. Bee pauses as she goes to pass her husband. "We'll be in the kitchen like good little mob wives when you two get the sticks out of your asses."

My wide eyes follow their retreating backs until they're out of fucking sight and then they jump to Killa, who's doing the same but looking like a goddamn lovesick puppy. "What the fuck was that?"

He turns my way with a proud smirk. "That was the real Bee Masen, and she's wicked pissa."

I'm not sure I'd ever use the term pissa to describe Bella in any way, but the adoration he has for his wife is fucking clear, and that means something to me these days. I shrug and reluctantly step forward. "Let's get this show on the road then."

Killa swings the door wider and motions me inside, closing and locking it behind me. "You can never be too careful with this many competing Mob members in town."

He leads me into an open space, and I can already see the women at the far end of the room. Bella's perched at the bar—like she's just visiting her fucking BFF—while Bee moves around in the kitchen beyond her, loading two plates full of pasta.

Another huge difference—Bella can't cook to save her goddamn life.

"I see you two finally decided to stop measuring your dicks," Bee says as she slides one of the plates to Bella. "Cullen, sit and Killa will get you two drinks."

I'm too goddamn dumbfounded at Bella's ease with these people we don't know to pay much attention, but I _am_ sure I need something strong if I'm going to get through this without cracking my teeth. "Whiskey, make it a double," I say, sliding onto a bar stool beside Bella.

"You sit and eat." Killa points to Bee and then the stool on the other side of Bella before moving toward a bar setup against the wall. "Ever had Midleton?" he calls over his shoulder.

"Can't say that I have," I respond, a smirk lifting with my next thought. "I'm a Glenfiddich man myself."

"Fucking muppet," he mumbles with a head shake as he pours two glasses of the gold liquid and joins us back at the bar, only he perches directly across from where the three of us are seated. "You'll never touch that Scotch shit again."

I take a tentative sip, and then kill the motherfucker when I determine it's up to snuff—more than, actually, but I won't easily admit it. "It's passable," I say, sitting the tumbler in front of me. "Enough with the bullshit. What exactly are we here for?"

"Edward," Bella scolds, sitting her fork on her plate and giving me the bitch brow, while Bee hides a chuckle by taking a swallow of her drink.

Killa opens his mouth to answer but pauses when his eyes land on his wife, who's happily sipping her iced tea. "Where the fuck is your milk?" he aks, glaring at her.

"I don't fucking want milk," she answers, ignoring him.

"The doctor said you need more calcium, so you're going to drink some fucking milk, Bee." He crosses his arms and stares at her across the bar.

"Killa, I don't want the fucking milk. Now leave me alone and get to the point before I fuck you up in front of company!" she yells, her brown eyes deadly.

He ignores her, heading to the kitchen anyway.

As they argue over who's getting enough fucking calcium, Bella turns to me with a soft smile. "They're cute."

I snort as a cabinet slams in the background. "They're something, but cute isn't the word I'd use."

"Edward," Bella says softly, spinning in her seat to face me completely. "It's obvious they love each other very much." She palms my cheek. "Can't you just try to hear them out without being so harsh?"

I take her hand and press a soft kiss against her wrist. "Harsh is how we survive, solare."

"We're here because you obviously need them," Bella says, lifting a pointed brow. "Just try to rein it in a tiny bit. Please. I already like Bee."

My jaw tightens, but I reluctantly mutter, "Fine."

Our conversation is interrupted when Killa strolls back to the island with purpose, sitting a glass in front of Bee with a glare. "Drink the fucking milk."

"Fucking cocksucker," she says, rolling her eyes and taking a sip.

"Now where the fuck were we?" Killa asks, downing the rest of his whiskey and smacking his glass against the marble.

"You were about to tell me why the fuck we're here," I say but immediately regret sounding so harsh when Bella side-eyes me. I shrug about as unapologetically as she did earlier when she followed a complete stranger into her home and left me standing at the door.

"Right," Killa says, glancing to his wife to make sure she's still drinking that fucking milk—I'll never again be able to think of the word without fucking in front of it. "Bee and I thought that under the circumstances, you might feel safer leaving Miss Swan here, at our place, while you and I go to the meeting."

My face stays impassive as I wait for the Spidey Senses to kick in, but they never do. Why? I have no fucking idea, but I act as if they did anyway. "Why in the hell do you think that would ease my goddamn mind? I don't even know you!"

"Hey, don't be a fucking dick," he snaps, walking around the bar to stand next to his wife, his stance softening as their eyes meet. "I'm a man who knows what it feels like to have the love of his life taken from him, from someone I fucking trusted, no less." His jaw tightens and his neck muscles flex as he works to get his anger under control. "From what I've heard about the shit going on with Miami, I'd say that's why you brought her to Boston to begin with. Why not give her the best fucking protection possible when you can't be by her side?"

My ice-cold resistance thaws slightly as I listen to him talk about a situation that's my worst fucking fear come to life. "What makes you think her being _here_ makes her safer?" I ask, motioning around the room.

"It's a simple fucking fact," he says like a smartass as he caresses Bee's bump. "Do you think I'd ever let anything happen to my wife again? Especially now that she's six months pregnant. There's nowhere fucking safer than with Bee."

My brows draw together as I take his words and meld them with the facts I was given before we arrived. "But I thought the kidnapping was only five months ago."

Pain and anger swirl in Killa's eyes, but it's Bee who answers my question as she locks their fingers together against her bulging stomach. "We didn't know until after."

"Oh no," Bella gasps, the horror clear in her voice. "That must've made a frightening experience even worse, to learn something so huge after the fact."

"I don't know about frightening, but it was a fucking shock. I did feel bad I killed a few men and my brother's girlfriend while pregnant, but I'd do it again if I had to."

What she's saying falls right in line with what I suspected—she's fucking deadly—but I guess Bella had no idea as she doesn't utter a peep. "And you think you can keep Bella safer than my own men?" I ask, addressing Bee this time.

"If it comes down to it, I won't let anyone fucking touch her," she says, pulling a small, chrome gun with a bee etched on it from a strap on her thigh. "I'm always prepared."

"Of course you are, baby, but you're not killing any fucking one," Killa interrupts, glaring her way. "I have men in the building who'll protect Bella with their lives, as if she's one of us."

"I'm supposed to just trust your guards?" I ask, ready to deny this bullshit on the spot. Leaving men I don't know in charge of Bella's safety is much too fucking far out of my comfort zone.

Killa shrugs as if he doesn't care one way or the other. "You're welcome to leave any guards you see fit, but they'll stay in the fucking hallway. Bee will only put up with so much fucking protection."

"Besides, I don't know your fucking men, so they damn sure aren't coming into my house," Bee says, her cold eyes glaring at me.

I stay silent while my brain and heart do battle. As a hardened mob Boss, I want to stand the fuck up and tell them to go to hell while dragging Bella out the door, but as a man who loves his girl more than anything, the idea of an extra layer of protection is tempting. It all boils down to fucking trust, something I'm not sure I can give.

"Look, Cullen, you can either leave her here with me or not. I frankly don't give a shit either way. I like Bella, but I'm not going to fucking beg you," Bee says, apparently fed the fuck up with my indecision.

"You don't have to beg," Bella says, giving me a chastising glare. "It's me we're discussing, and I'd love to sit here with you, Bee."

"Great! I have a few new designs that you'd fit perfectly. You can be my model while they go do mob shit," Bee says, excitedly.

"What the fuck," I mutter as I stand and grab Bella's elbow. "Excuse us; we need to have a private goddamn discussion."

"Good luck with that, fucker." Killa chuckles as I start to drag Bella away.

I shift my glare from Bella to him, but the teasing glint in his eye tells me he's been here before. "Whatever," I mumble as I march Bella to the far end of the room.

By the time we make it to the door, Bella's fed up. She snatches her elbow from my grasp and turns on me with fire in her eyes. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Edward?"

"Me," I whisper-yell as I palm my chest. "You're the one agreeing to stay here with someone you fucking barely know!"

She. Rolls. Her. Fucking. Eyes. "There's distrust and there's insanity. I believe you may have crossed the line into the latter." I take a deep breath through my nose to keep from losing my shit, and she steps closer, her stiff stance softening. "Edward, you're about to enter a meeting with some of the most powerful and ruthless men in America, why wouldn't you want an ally in the room with you?"

I toss my head back and pinch the bridge of my nose, taking deep breaths to keep from screaming at this infuriating woman. When I'm sufficiently calm, I roughly pull her against my chest. "Fuck the meeting. Fuck an ally." I hug her tighter before gripping her arms and pushing her back so she can see my eyes. "Your safety is all I care about right now, and you've just handed yourself over to them. What if they're not our allies, Bella? What if this is all a fucking trap to get you away from me and into the hands of Miami?"

She shakes her head sadly. "Can you look at me and honestly tell me that's what you think this is about?"

"No," I admit begrudgingly, casting a glance to the couple who're bickering among themselves across the room. "Demetri says Killa has his own issues with Miami, so I'm more inclined to trust him when it comes to them, but that's business. You're my everything, so that makes this is harder."

"And I love that you protect me so ferociously," she says, palming my cheek. "But in this instance, you're only ramming into a brick wall. You can station your men outside the door, but I'm staying with Bee and that's final."

Even though her words cut me to the quick, her soft eyes tell me she doesn't want it to be that way. She truly believes the offer is genuine, and she's made her decision based on how she feels, so I respond with my own overwhelming emotions on full display. I grip the back of her neck and pull her lips to mine for a punishing kiss. It's filled with anger, frustration, fear and more love than I know what to do with.

When I'm done, I jerk away, leaving only a breath of space between us. "You better be fucking safe when I come for you," I rasp, stepping back and reaching inside my jacket. I pull out a small, fixed blade knife with a knuckle grip and lay it in her hand. "Stash this, and use it if you need to."

Surprisingly, she smiles as she closes her fingers around it. "I promise," she says, slipping it into her bra. "Though I can't see needing it. They'd be fools to attack here."

I kiss her again, long and hard. "I hope you're right."

With a deep breath, I hold out my elbow and revel in the feel of her fingers tightening around my arm, as if it's the last fucking time it'll ever happen. Deep inside, I know it's not. I know this isn't a set-up. I know Bee Masen is sincere, but that doesn't make it any easier to leave Bella with someone I barely know.

Bella snickers, tilting her head to the woman who's pushing her husband away forcefully. "Bee's a little scary."

I chuckle darkly—goddamn psychos. "I thought she was going to kill him over that fucking milk."

"Yeah, that was great," Bella replies, smiling widely.

"Don't get any fucking ideas," I warn, leaning my lips close to her ear.

Chills race down her arm. "I wouldn't dream of it," she says, peering at me from beneath her long lashes. "I prefer a different brand of torture."

My goddamn cock twitches, and I concede with a tilt of my head. "Point made."

By the time we approach Killa and Bee, they're no longer bickering. "About fucking time," Killa says, smirking. "So what's the fucking verdict?"

"I'll be staying with Bee," Bella says, smiling triumphantly.

"And I'll try not to worry during the meeting," I add, my eyes falling to Bee. "I'm sorry if I offended you with my reluctance. It's just Bella's the most important thing to me, and if something were to happen to her …" I trail off, erasing those thoughts from my mind.

"Capisco," she says, telling me she understands. "I'm used to overbearing cocksuckers; I married one."

Bella laughs softly, and I tilt my head with a smirk. "Touché."

"No Italian," Killa says, pointing at her. "Now, let's book and show these muppets you got moxie." Like I said—goddamn jibber-jabbering psycho.

"Try not to go all Killa on motherfuckers," Bee tells him, leaning in and giving him a very inappropriate kiss.

"I'm going to be killing something else when I get back," he whispers, winking at her.

"Promises, promises," she says, giggling, which sounds foreign coming from her.

"After this is over, remind me never to come back to fucking Boston," I tell Bella as I lean down to kiss her like it's the last time I'll ever see her.

"Let's go, Cullen!" Killa yells, interrupting my moment.

"Jesus," I whisper as I pull my lips away, just slightly. "I love you, Bella."

"Love you."

I kiss her hard and fast before snatching myself away and turning to join Killa. Once we exit the condo, we stop by our apartment to collect Caius, Demetri and the three soldiers. I leave two of them stationed outside Killa's door.

"If anybody gets inside this door and you're not dead, you fucking will be," I bark, jabbing a finger at the men. "Got me?"

"Yes, Boss," the reply in unison.

"If someone gets in that door they'll be dead within minutes. My fucking wife is deadly, Cullen. Now stop fucking worrying," Killa says, shaking his head.

I give the closed door one last longing glance before we make our way to the elevator. Killa gives his guards the same basic orders, except he uses those fucked up words again. Jacob joins the five of us as we enter the elevator, and we ride twenty floors down with hardly a word said between us.

The shift from men in love to Bosses is evident as the doors open and we step into the hall full of confidence and attitude. I button my suit jacket and dust invisible lint from my shoulder, standing tall and glancing around with narrowed eyes.

Killa motions to two goons who're awaiting his arrival. "These are the Outfit men," he says, pointing to Caius and the soldier. "They're with us. If they move, you fucking move." He turns his glare from his men to mine. "Same for you motherfuckers."

Caius glances at me and at my nod, he says, "We got your back."

As a unit, the eight of us make our way down the hall with Killa's two men taking the lead and my two taking the fucking rear. We take a right at the end of the hall and pause as one of Killa's soldiers pushes open a set of double doors to reveal an empty room, aside from four other goons standing there, with another set of double doors on the far wall.

The terms of this meeting have been ironed out prior to now, and this is the format we all agreed upon. Only four men from each syndicate are allowed. The Boss and his chosen higher up will take part in the meeting, and he is allowed to have two guards stationed in this room. If any fucking body from any syndicate shows up uninvited, his life is automatically forfeit as the other guards will take him out.

Once our men have taken their positions, Killa and Jacob lead Demetri and me to the next set of double doors. After a slight pause, he pushes them open and we step into the meeting room. Four men turn in their seats as we approach the large round table with a sleek, tinted glass surface and shiny metal legs.

"Nice digs," I say sarcastically, smirking at Killa.

"Beggars can't be choosers, you old fuck," he replies in that smartass tone I'm strangely becoming accustomed to. "Don't forget, you're the one who wanted this fucking meeting, and this dump serves that purpose."

"Then sit the fuck down and let me conduct it," I say, lifting a pointed brow.

Killa laughs as he and Jacob take their seats, prompting Demetri to do the same. I remain standing and make eye contact with each man as I state my intentions.

"I'm Edward Cullen, and by the end of this meeting, I'll have your consent to restructure the Miami organization."

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 **This chapter is brought to you by FyreFuckingPrincess, and it perfectly embodies our friendship. A lot of cursing and bickering with a healthy dose of hard-earned trust thrown on top, all wrapped in a fuck-awesome package!**

 **Now, you go insist Ceceprincess give you a Bella and Bee outtake! It's out of my hands. Next chapter will post once a certain thing has happened in Killa/Bee. See you then :)**


	37. Meeting Adjourned

**This chapter is also brought to you by FyreFuckingPrincess, though we've both are/have been in internet hell. 2browneyes is the only person to even get a peek while it was still a work in progress.**

* * *

 **Gore rating—0**

" _I'm Edward Cullen, and by the end of this meeting, I'll have your permission to restructure the Miami organization."_

"And what makes you think that, Mr. Cullen," croaks the man seated directly across from me. He's old, like fucking ancient, with an oxygen tank at his side and a wheelchair beneath him. His thin, gray hair is greased to his head and his hand shakes as he holds it out in question.

"I don't _think_ ," I snap, my hard stare burning a hole through him. "I _will_ have everyone in this room's support by the time we're done today." My eyes leave him and trail over each man as I push down the rising anger. "Let's take a step back so you can introduce yourselves. I like to know who's speaking when they fucking question me." I motion to Demetri. "I assume you all know Demetri Boyd, as he's been in close contact with each of your organizations."

I shift my gaze to the man on the other side of Demetri, prompting him to stand. I take my seat as he begins his introduction. "My name is Ephraim Black and I'm the Boss of the Quileutes. The man to my right is my son, Billy, and he's the Underboss." His gaze passes across every man before coming to a stop on mine. "Mr. Cullen, if the things we've heard are proven true, we will one hundred percent be backing your proposal today."

I tilt my head, appreciative of his preemptive support, and move my eyes to the younger man seated with the decrepit fuck. He gives me a overly confident smirk as he stands, and I suppress a growl. "My name is Sasha Denali and I'm the Underboss. We, of course, are from Vegas and this is my grandfather, Eli, our long-standing and very prosperous Boss."

"Prosperous, eh?" I smirk, my gaze falling to the old man. "So all your organization's enterprises have your rubber stamp of approval?"

"Of course," Sasha answers before the old man can speak. "His body may be old, but his mind is still as sharp as a tack." The old man preens under the praise, and I take note.

"Interesting," I muse, feeling like the geezer and me both are being fed a line of bullshit. "I'll be sure to recognize that later." My gaze shifts to Killa, dismissing Sasha instantly. "Mr. Masen, the floor is yours."

Killa stands, glaring at Sasha until he takes his seat. "I'm Killa Masen and the Hub is my fucking city, be mindful of that while you're here." He spreads his arms wide before placing a hand on Jacob's shoulder, who's sitting to my left. "I'm Irish, so we don't go by all that Italian bullshit, but this is my brother-in-law, Jacob Swanatori, and he's one of my top men." He drops back into his chair and jabs the table with his pointer finger. "As far as I'm fucking concerned, you can kill the whole fucking King family and the world would be a better fucking place.."

I give that fucker an appreciative smirk and motion for Demetri to place my briefcase on the table. Opening it, I pull out the stack of copies I made last night and stand, closing the case. I slide a sheet to each set of men and drop the rest of the stack on top of my briefcase.

"This is Ronald and Royce King, the current Boss and Underboss of the Miami organization," I start, sneering as I glance at their pictures. "As you can see, they both have a rap sheet a mile long, not that it fucking matters." I look up with a shrug. "It's just tacky as shit and shows what goddamned idiots they are."

"Where's Roger?" Eli Denali says, his voice as sharp as it gets for a living sack of bones. "He's always kept these miscreants in line."

"Since you asked"—I pass around a second sheet—"that may have been his fucking downfall. What you're looking at is the last known photo of Roger King. As you can see in the details below, it was taken two months before a private fundraiser held at the King home. That fundraiser is his last confirmed appearance, and it was almost a year ago."

"Impossible!" Sasha says, tossing the piece of paper to the table. "The suggestion that Ronald or Royce killed him is ludicrous!"

"By all means, enlighten the rest of the fucking class," I say, spreading my arms wide. "Make all of us privy to your insider information."

"We have no information," Eli says, tugging at Sasha's arm, prompting him to retake his seat. "Roger and I are the longest ruling Bosses, so there have been occasions over the years where we've collaborated."

"Speaking of collaboration," I say, lifting the next sheet and sliding it across the glass surface. "Would this be one of your joint ventures?"

This copy contains every detail Jenks could scrounge up on Miami's long-standing and very profitable, yet nasty as fuck, child sex trafficking operation. Giving Eli a minute to look over the information, I pass a sheet to other men seated around us, making sure to slip Sasha my copy since he seems uninterested in looking at the one Eli's holding.

He still ignores it—gotcha, motherfucker.

"Disgusting," Eli spits, his wrinkly face scrunching up to match his tone. "I begged Roger for years to give this up, and I honestly thought he had."

"As you can see, not only did he continue, but his sons have ramped it up in the past year." I press my hands against the cool, flat surface and lean forward, my challenging glare on Sasha. "You must be the stupid fuck who has the Vegas organization tied up in this bullshit."

"How dare you!" he says, standing in fake outrage. "My grandfather would have me whacked if I did something so stupid."

"Like your father?" I accuse, connecting two puzzle pieces whether they fit or not. Carmen Denali was the Underboss of the Vegas organization for many years, until about four years ago. Poof, fucking gone, like so many others in our chosen lifestyle.

The younger Denali is so enraged by my comment, he reaches for his piece, but that won't fucking fly. My Glock is aimed directly at his forehead before he can lift his from its holster. He freezes like this pissant he is.

"I'll scatter your brains all over this pristine room," I snarl, noticing the glint of steel in Killa's hand, also. "Take your fucking seat, traitor."

"Sit down, Sasha!" the old man snaps, heaving a chest-rattling sigh. "Carmen made his bed, and I've made peace with my decision." Sasha's jaw drops when he looks to the decrepit fucker as if he's never seen him before, but Eli shakes his head. "We'll discuss this further at home. Now is not the time." His dark, deep-set eyes return to mine. "Back to the matter at hand. Ronald and Royce didn't kill Roger. They looked up to him like a God, so that leaves me to wonder if it was you, Mr. Cullen, who's already taken premature revenge."

"I'd kill Roger King in a fucking minute if he were still alive, but he isn't, so you're barking up the wrong goddamn tree," I say, my voice measured and even.

"Your word then, that's all I have?" Eli challenges, looking to the Quileutes. "How are we to back a man who may have already broken our guidelines? A man who readily admits he'd like to kill Roger?"

"I fucking killed him," Killa interrupts, and all eyes turn to him. "As he slept, I snuck into his house, woke him the fuck up and stared into his eyes so he'd know it was me ending his pathetic fucking life. Then I slit his fucking throat and watched him die, slowly, gagging for fucking air, and I enjoyed every fucking second of it.

The Quileutes are looking on with stern expressions, and Eli's hard to read through all the fucking wrinkles, but that goddamn Sasha's nearly vibrating with the urge to open his stupid fucking mouth. Me? I'm impressed, though at the same time slightly disgruntled he's taken the opportunity right out of my goddamn hands.

"See, grandfather," Sasha says, standing. "This meeting was a sham from the start. Let's get out of here before someone murders us, too." He grips the handles of the old man's wheelchair and starts backing him from the table.

Killa's up like a bolt of lightning and approaches Sasha, swiping his feet from beneath him and shoving him back into his own chair. "Sit the fuck down and ask the right questions."

Ephraim clears his throat and holds up his hands. "No need for this to get out of control. Let's all calm down because I, for one, _do_ have questions." He holds Killa's gaze and waits for him to take his seat. "Thank you, Mr. Masen," he says with a nod. "I assume there's a reason for your actions, and I speak for the Quileutes when I say we're interested in hearing it."

"So this is what it's come down to," Eli says, looking to Ephraim. "He's going to give _his_ explanation, and we're all expected to accept it as fact?"

"I don't give a fuck whether you accept it or not. I don't fucking answer to you," Killa barks, glaring at the old man. "Besides, you don't have the manpower to do any fucking thing about it." His neck muscles flex, but he shakes it away, turning his heated stare back to the Quileutes. "I don't give a fuck what any of you think, but I am willing to share with the class."

Ephraim glances to his son, who gives him a slight nod. "I'm sorry, Mr. Denali. While I don't approve of learning of a hit on a Boss a year after the fact, I'm also not interested in turning this meeting into a trial."

"I second that shit," I say, ready to hear what that fat fuck did that got him killed. "Besides, he'd be dying now anyway."

"So sure of yourself," Eli croaks, his eyes flicking from me to Ephraim. "I thought with you here this meeting would be fair, but I can see now that I've been duped."

"You're definitely being duped," I say, an evil chuckle bubbling from my lips as I flip through my stack of copies. "But it isn't by us." I select the sheet I want and slide it across the fucking table. "That's proof of your organization's entanglement with the child sex trafficking ring in Miami, and I'd be willing to bet my right arm the man responsible is sitting right beside you."

"This is absurd!" Sasha shouts as he attempts to stand, but Killa is faster and towering over him in a split fucking second, daring him to move another muscle. "Grandfather, please." He changes tactics, clinging to the old man's arm. "These men are trying to turn you against me to cover up their own crimes. You can't seriously believe this."

Eli ignores Sasha's incessant begging as he reads through the information, and his face is grave as he neatly lays the sheet on the table, turning his deep-set eyes to his grandson. "We'll discuss this matter at home. Now sit back and shut up!" He swivels his floppy jowls to me. "If this information proves true, Mr. Cullen, I appreciate the heads up, but for now I'd like to finish this meeting so I can get home and look into it personally."

"I couldn't agree more," I say with a nod before cutting my eyes to Killa. "I consider the reason for Roger's death relevant, so the fucking floor is yours."

"Roger teamed up with my uncle against our family because he wasn't happy about my marriage to Bee Swanatori. He wasn't pleased that Boston and New York were forming one family, and others agreed with him." His cold eyes lock with Eli's, and I take note, wondering what the fuck they know that I don't.. "They put a hit on Bee, and then carried out an ambush at my parents twenty-fifth anniversary, killing my mentor and friend, Felix Doyle."

His voice cracks at the mention of Felix, and he takes a moment to compose himself. "I killed my own uncle the night of the fucking party, but I was forbidden from killing Roger by Da and The Chief. So I waited for years, until the day after my wedding, when no one could tell me how to run my fucking family, and I killed that motherfucker. I wasn't going to ask anyone for fucking permission, and I won't apologize for it.. He killed someone who was like a father to me, and he deserved to fucking pay for it. Felix Doyle was ten times the man Roger King ever was, and I'd kill that motherfuker a thousand times if I could."

So the fucking plot thickens.

"I remember hearing about the ambush when it happened," Billy Black says, glancing to Ephraim, who nods along. "But we didn't realize it was an outside job. Our intel led us to believe it was a squabble among family members and nothing more."

Eli digs his fingers into his deep eye sockets. "More repercussions, I see," he says, his lips tightly pursed. "Roger always did think he was untouchable." He wheezes a tired sigh. "I move to overlook his death and return to the matter at hand."

Stupid fucking Sasha loses it then, grabbing his grandfather's oxygen tube and pinching it closed, his voice hysterical. "What are you doing! He just admitted to breaking our rules without remorse and you just—"

He's cut off by the door as it bursts open hard enough to slam into the wall, and a goon is shoved into the room with a barrel pressed to his head. Caius stands behind the guy with his arm outstretched, and further behind him is one of Killa's men with his gun aimed at a second guy, while the rest of the guards huddle behind them.

I stand, pulling my weapon, immediately on guard. "What's wrong?"

"It's Emmett," Caius says, holding his phone in his outstretched hand. "He's been calling both you and Demetri nonstop before he gave up and called me."

As I walk over to take the phone, the sounds around me fade into the distance. I barely hear the squabble break out between Killa and Sasha, as it's apparently the Vegas men who were stupid enough to stand in Caius' way. Everything feels far away, like it isn't even happening in the same fucking room, as I anticipate the reason for this urgent call.

My hand feels like it belongs to someone else as I grip the phone and bring it to my ear. "Emmett," I mutter, preparing for the worst, but there's fucking no way to truly be prepared.

My brother's hysterical, half crying, half screaming as he tries to relay the news. It's my job to comfort and assure, but I'm incapable, as all I'm able to do is thank whoever's in charge of this fucked up life that it isn't me in his position. That I'm not the one who's girl has been taken.

"I chipped her, Edward," he says, frantic. "I knew something like this was going to happen. She knew too; she begged m—":

"What?" I bark, interrupting him as his words help me get my shit together. "You have a trace on her location?"

"Yes, that's what I'm trying to tell you!" he shouts, overeager now, his moods swinging violently. "I have a plane sitting on the runway."

I pinch the bridge of my nose and breathe deeply. "Emmett, I need you to listen to me. Get on that plane and come to Boston. I'll meet you on the runway."

"No way, Edward," he yells, freaking out again. "You're not leaving me behind!"

"Shhh," I soothe, hoping to talk him down. "I'm not leaving you. I'm going to meet you with supplies and we're going to leave together. I promise, Emmett. I know you have it in you when it comes to her. Marcus and Aro will meet you at the airport." I snap my fingers toward Caius so he can get on that. "Have Seth and Garrett join you and leave Riley in charge of the buildings. Can you do that for me?"

"Seth's dead," he says, his tone solemn. "He didn't make it through the attack."

"Jesus," I say, clawing at my hair.

"All six of the guards on my floor were executed and another four at the back entrance had snapped necks," he adds, his voice rising in pitch. "I should've been here with her. I could've stopped them!"

"No!" I bark, angry he's thinking that way. "You'd just be another body among the dead." I pause and breath a couple times to get my imagination under control, to stop myself from picturing him lifeless and covered in blood. "You're alive, Em, and that's their most crucial mistake. We _will_ get her back."

"I hope you're right." His voice is small and scared, and it only intensifies my rage.

I talk to him as if he's a child, coaching him through the motions until he's safely in the car with Garrett and on the way to the small, private air strip. As soon as I hang up, Caius is by my side and confirming that Marcus and Aro will be awaiting their arrival. I nod once, turning away from him and back to the men at the table.

"This meeting is adjourned," I say, opening my briefcase and shoving the unused stack of papers inside. As I slam it closed and grab the handle, I add, "Miami has crossed a fucking line by taking my brother's girlfriend. My retaliation needs no approval, nor am I seeking it. I'll grant each of you the courtesy of a full report once I've returned." My eyes lock on Eli and narrow. "Are you capable of handling the traitor? Of preventing him from warning Miami of my imminent arrival? Because if not, he can die right fucking now." I pull my Glock and train it on Sasha, who's already sporting a swollen eye.

Eli holds up his wrinkly, old hands. "I handle my own men when they step out of line, Mr. Cullen," he says, his eyes flicking from me to Killa. "I believe Mr. Masen can attest that I'm honorable when it comes to my family and their misdeeds."

There it is again, something I'm not privy to, but I don't really give a fuck. As long as Sasha is handled, I've got better shit to be spending my time on. "Do you agree with that sentiment, Killa?" I ask, brow lifted.

Killa narrows his eyes at the old man and stays quiet for a few seconds before looking to me. "He made the right fucking choice in the past, but I'll keep Sasha under guard here until you've fucking landed in Miami."

"I assume this will be soon?" Eli asks, looking to me.

"Very."

"You have until nightfall," Eli responds with a nod. "At that time I will take my grandson and return home."

Sasha's out of his seat and has a knife to the old man's throat before anyone can stop him. His eyes are wild and he sounds like a lunatic. "You can't keep me here! I run this organization! No one contro—"

A deadly shot from my Glock shuts him up instantly, the fucking idiot, and I turn, leaving all the men behind as I lead Caius from the room. Demetri stays, probably hoping to smooth things over, and I motion for the Outfit soldier to follow us into the hallway. As soon as we're alone, I start barking orders.

I have Caius make sure Jane is in charge of the crews and order Riley to hire more armed guards for our home base. I send the soldier to buy black, tactical clothing giving him a one hour time limit.

Leaving them to their work, I move to the other end of the hall to personally call Special Agent Swan. I inform him of the attack, though he already knows, and I assure him Bella is safe. He knows there's more to it, but I won't fucking budge, only offering that he should keep in touch with the Miami field office for unusual activity. I end the call before he can press me any further.

By the time I'm done, Killa and Demetri are in the hallway and the other bosses have taken their men and returned to their rooms. The Vegas goons are cleaning the mess I left behind, and Demetri informs me that Eli is distressed but also understanding of my actions.

After all, his life was threatened by his very own blood.

"Weapons?" I say, looking to Killa. "Where can my men obtain some here in Boston?"

He motions for Jacob to join us. "See to it that the Outfit men have whatever the fuck they need."

I flick my head, motioning for Caius to join Jacob. "You know what I like."

"Son, I'm going to return to our room and get in touch with our Southern contacts," he says, clapping my shoulder as he passes. "They need to know the timeline has been moved up."

I nod and watch him go, my mind silent for the first fucking second since I heard the news. But all that does is give me time to think, time to hear the monster's whispers as he builds my rage and urges me to leave no one alive. He uses the kidnapping to his advantage, reminding me that it could've been Bella, insisting that it was probably meant to be Bella, and whether it's true or not, it's enough to drive me wild with rage.

I lift my fist and start slamming it into the wall, over and over it strikes the surface until it gives. First a crack, then a hole, but I don't stop. I can't. Fear has taken over and I'm channeling it into rage.

A pair of sturdy arms wrap around me from behind, and I struggle against the hold, desperate to remain lost in my misery. "Calm the fuck down!" Killa demands, his voice breaking through the void. "She's upstairs with my Bee. They didn't fucking take her."

My body sags at the reminder, giving up the fight, and I shrug him off, pressing my forehead against the wall. "But they took someone else. Someone my brother loves, and all I can think is how glad I am it wasn't Bella."

"That's how it's supposed to fucking be," Killa says, prompting me to turn, giving him an "are you crazy" look. "No fucking one is more important than your wife, or girlfriend in your case. Fuck anyone who thinks otherwise, including yourself." He jabs his finger to make his point, and his forceful words help somehow. "Now that the pity party is over, have you decided what to do with her while you're there?"

"My condo in Chicago is better than Fort Knox," I reply, getting my shit together more and more. "Though I'd have to personally escort her since I can't trust anyone else with that task." I ball my fists, angry at myself failing to take that into account as I barked orders. "Shit!" I pull out my phone. "I need to rearrange some things."

Killa pushes the phone down and gives me a hard stare. "She'll stay here. I swear on my fucking life that nothing will happen to her."

I hold his gaze, considering everything I've learned about him in the past few hours, before giving him a single nod. "She dies, you fucking die."

He smirks, clapping me on the back as he leads me to the elevator. "I'd expect nothing fucking less."

* * *

 **Sorry this took so long, and sorry if it has mistakes. It's literally fresh off the fingers. Going on vacay today, so I'll get back to writing these last chapters as soon as I'm back.**

 **I'll be sharing a teaser for my BatB contribution on Fyregirl Fics soon!**

 **See you soon :)**

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	38. Junkyard Massacre

**Special thanks to 2browneyes and Sunshine1220 for giving this a look.**

 **Gore rating—7 (This rating was originally in honor of my long-time friend and pre-reader Judyblue95. This morning, I learn she passed and my heart hurts. The fandom has lost a wonderful soul, and its authors have lost a consistent and straightforward reviewer who always gave us her honest reaction. Her impact will never be forgotten, and I will miss her so very much)**

* * *

Saying goodbye to Bella is easier than I expect. She's in the safest fucking place for the situation, and I truly feel she'll be just as I left her when I return—unless Bee influences her _too_ much, that is. Her presence calms the raging monster, but for the first time since I've known her, that isn't what I need right now, so I man the fuck up and kiss her like I'll never see her again. As I walk away, I leave every speck of decency behind with her.

Demetri also gets left behind in the condo down the hall from Killa. He can be a central command base while also adding an extra helping of back up if anything does come up. He may be old, but he cracked some fucking skulls back in the day, so I trust he can hold his own now or he wouldn't be a part of the team.

Emmett is pumped and ready by the time we meet on the runway. His fear fuels his anger, though not necessarily aiming it in the right direction, but that's what the fuck I'm for. My no-nonsense tone grounds him and points his focus toward the right shit. We spend the first thirty minutes of the flight taking turns changing and arming up in the bedroom before the eight of us huddle together and discuss our plan—well, they get their fucking marching orders.

By the time we land in Ft. Lauderdale for the final leg, Emmett's pinned down Rosalie's location and we've formed the first stages of our continuously evolving plan. They've set themselves up in a secluded location that'll only help secure their fucking downfall. Whether anyone currently associated with the Miami crew lives is now completely up to who lives through my retaliation—it'll be swift and brutal.

The helicopter blades whir overhead as we sit silent and on alert, armed and fucking ready to make our descent a few miles from where Rosalie's signal is leading us—an old building at the dead end of a dirt road surrounded by long-forgotten junk cars.

"This is your last chance to retreat, Garrett," I say through the headset. "Once we move forward, you're officially a part of this team."

"Fully on board, Boss!" he replies, his voice eager—though he should be, I'm paying him a ton of fucking cash, more than the average mercenary rate. "Let's take these murderous thugs down."

"That we will." I chuckle, appreciating his gusto but also recognizing I'm not much different—at least for today. "Prepare to move, everyone."

We land about five miles from the location, where Demetri has already arranged for an SUV to be awaiting us. I'm grateful when the roaring blades finally fall silent, and as my men transfer our gear, I give the pilot his orders for the rest of the mission. "Remain here, but be ready to leave on a moment's notice. We might need to swiftly converge on another location or make a quick get-away."

"Yes, sir," the old pilot says with a firm nod. "The cash from this score will set my wife and me up for life, so you can count on me."

"You won't have a life if you fail." My glare is cold and menacing. "But I'll be sure to include a retirement bonus if you serve me well."

I turn, refusing to entertain more useless conversation. It's a risk any time you include an outsider in a mission such as this, but paid help is the best I can do  
under these fucking swift circumstances, and wads of cash speak real goddamn loudly.

Everyone else is already in the SUV awaiting my arrival, and I slip into the passenger seat with blood lust surging through my veins. The ride is tense and quiet as I fuse myself with the monster and become one unstoppable force.

"Pull off here and hide the vehicle in the brush." I point to an exceptionally lush area not soon after we turn on the dirt road. "We can't have a passer-by noticing the abandoned car and alerting anyone of our arrival."

It takes twenty minutes to stash the vehicle and reach the outer edges of the abandoned junk yard. We wind past rows of old, rusty cars with grass and trees growing out of them in some cases, and in others almost completely covered by tall, dry grass.

Ducked behind an old beetle, we get our first clear view of the building. It's smaller than I anticipated, and realizing that sends a shot of adrenaline zinging through me. Smaller means less places to scatter and easier to pick motherfuckers off. It also means Rosalie won't be as hard to find, and her signal is even giving us the general area of the building.

You got to fucking love modern GPS accuracy—especially Emmett's top notch shit.

Speaking of Emmett, he's antsy as fuck, ready to charge in there spraying bullets on everyone. The only thing keeping him in check is the reminder that he may accidentally hit Rosalie if we aren't careful.

I motion for the rest of the men to move the fuck back and give Garrett space to work as he sets up his equipment. This is what he's here for, after all. I've seen his work, and when it comes to the gadget-y shit, he knows what it takes to fill us in on how many fucks we'll be facing—not that we'll know if any of them is Ronald or Royce until we're inside and facing them.

He whistles as he studies a bunch of lines and blobs on his laptop screen. "Looks to be under heavy guard." He jabs a few keys and checks some more charts before turning to me. "I can't give an exact number, but it looks like there're a lot of heat signatures coming from inside the building."

"I want a fucking number!" I whisper-bark, jabbing my finger toward the fucking computer and taking a step closer. "Look again!"

"Whoa, man," Emmett says, stepping between us. "I want to charge in there more than anybody, but we need to know what we're facing. Calm down and let him do his thing. This is his territory, but even I know it's hard to be precise when you're talking inside of a building."

"Fine." I breathe deeply, pinching the bridge of my nose. "How many men are stationed outside, then?"

"I'm seeing six signatures," Garrett replies, glancing my way. "But that only accounts for three sides of the building. So I'm going with eight."

I nod, pondering my next move. "Give me you max estimate for the inside."

He flicks back through the differing images on the fucking laptop before looking to me with a calculating pause. "No more than thirty and possibly as few as fifteen."

"Pack it up," I say, motioning for him to stash the equipment as I turn to address my men. "As you just heard, we're going in at an automatic disadvantage. There are eight of us and possibly as many as thirty-eight of them, but that doesn't mean shit." I pass my gaze over each man. "We have a fucking purpose. Rosalie's inside that building, and we're not leaving without her."

"Yes, Boss," the men say in unison, including Garrett, who's stashed his equipment in the Beetle and lined up with the rest of my men.

Caius, Marcus and Aro are all top notch killers who put their skill on full display as they worked their way up the ranks. The two soldiers, Alec and Liam, have been with us since their teen years, so with the right fucking guidance—mine—they can hold their own. As for Emmett, when it comes to Rosalie, he has it in him. I just hope that same factor doesn't bring his damn downfall. He has to stay calm and focused, allowing his head to lead and not his heart.

"We go in silent and deadly," I say, whipping a knife from its holster on my waist and admiring the sharp steel blade. "Our fire arms will be used only once we've executed all possible silent kills. I don't want Rosalie harmed in the crossfire." I pause and give them all a menacing stare. "I expect twenty of these fuckers to be dead before anyone even knows we're here."

"How're we gonna to handle that, Boss?" Aro asks, and he's the only one who's stupid enough to question me at a time like this, but it's a fair point.

"We'll start by killing the eight men stationed outside." I pause and motion to the left. "We'll work our way around back and take out those two guards first. I'd love to wait for dark, but time is of the essence, so we'll get as close as we can and do our thing. No gunfire and no physical fights. Slit their fucking throats."

I glance to Emmett. "Where would you estimate Rosalie's position to be?"

"From this angle?" he asks, and I nod once. "Far right corner."

"Garrett." I turn my laser focus to him. "What kind of structure are we looking at here?"

"It's not a wide open space, Boss," he replies, snapping into business mode. "Most likely similar to an old auto shop. Definitely hallways and probably office-like rooms, maybe even a parts storage area. That's what made it so difficult to pin down the heat signatures, but the area Emmett mentioned has a heavier presence."

"How many doors?" I ask.

"There's one normal door and two bay doors along the front of the building," Garrett answers. "I suggest we go in through the normal door."

"Agreed." I tilt my head. "After the outside guards are exterminated, we'll regroup at the front of the building and enter as a silent, efficient killing unit." I breathe deeply through my nose and release it. "Make sure your headsets are functioning and listen for my orders at all times."

"Yes, Boss."

I keep my knife in hand as I crouch and start working my way through the cars. We stay low and move quietly, taking note of the lazy men who're standing there running their fucking mouths as we wind through the junkers and position ourselves directly behind the building. The two men back here aren't gabbing like school girls, but they're also not very fucking alert, either.

I nod to a piece of metal at Aro's feet. "Toss it out into the open," I whisper, giving Caius a nod as I bring my knife back, ready to send it soaring through the air.

Caius follows my lead and smirks as he withdraws a damn Shuriken from one of his cargo pockets. I roll my fucking eyes—him and his fancy ass throwing star. He better hope it gets the job done.

At my nod, Aro tosses the metal into the open, about six feet from the front bumper of a rusted out Camaro, and immediately tucks himself behind the fender. Caius and I wait patiently, tensing the second the men notice the movement. As expected, after exchanging a glance, both of them start moving toward where the piece landed without making contact with any of the other guards.

Classic fucking stupidity.

And they promptly lose their lives for it.

With a flick of my wrist, my knife soars through the air and plunges into stupid number one's temple, and almost directly after, Caius' girly little star sticks deep into stupid number two's neck. As he grunts and grabs for it, blood spurting between his fingers, Caius rushes out, retrieving his star and slitting the idiot's throat in one carefully orchestrated move.

I lead the rest of my men into the open, motioning for four of them to split off and get a look around the corners, while the rest of us drag the bodies against the back wall of the building.

"Let's split into two groups and meet around front," I say, taking my cues from Aro and Marcus who've each scoped a different side of the building. "Garrett, you and Caius go with Aro, and Emmett and I will join Marcus and Liam. Make sure the bodies aren't easily seen from the front of the building in case we get any unexpected visitors coming in behind us."

"Got it, Boss," Caius says, wiping the blood from his star and re-pocketing it with a smirk. "See you around front."

I just shake my head and move out, leading Emmett to the corner. A quick peek tells me this will be just as easy as last time, except there's a window at the front corner of the building. We'll have to draw these two fuckheads toward us, and a rock toss is all it takes.

I almost laugh at how easy it is.

These two go down with throats slit from behind, and we drag them around the back corner to keep them out of view. As we get to the front, I crouch low and take a peek inside the window. It's a small room with this window and another facing the front on the other side of the door. Looks like it was a reception area to a business in its original form.

It's fucking empty, though, which is a plus for us.

By the time our group rounds the corner, the last two guards are meeting their ends. One with a slit throat, courtesy of Aro, and the other is rendered immobile by Caius' steel wire. It's a favorite for him, wrapping it around someone's throat so quickly and with so much force they can't even form an offense before they fade to black. Once he's passed out on the ground, Caius nudges Alec and insists he makes the final kill.

Practice makes perfect and shit.

"Drag them around the corner and let's fucking move," I order, motioning for Marcus to keep an eye on the window. "Every second we spend out here is another where Rosalie is subjected to whatever the fuck is going on in there." I pause while the bodies are dragged away, and after my men return, we form a small huddle. "I'll take the lead. As we pass doors, start splitting off from the back to clear each room. We'll get separated as we go so keep a listen through your headsets. Emmett and I will be working our way to the other side of the building. I want our presence kept under wraps as long as possible, so use your knives, fists, whatever until you hear the gunfire break out."

I close my eyes, shutting off Edward Cullen and allowing the monster free reign. "Watch each other's backs, and kill every motherfucker you encounter," I say, opening my eyes and turning to lead my men into war.

The front door is locked, and instead of blowing it to smithereens, Caius slips down to his knees and pulls a nifty little kit from his pocket, picking the lock in no fucking time. Their incompetence is staggering, and I begin to wonder if we'll face any resistance at all. I mean, I know they have no fucking idea we've located them, thanks to my genius brother, but the basics of keeping guard are seriously fucking lacking here.

Just as we step inside, a single black car creeps up the long dirt drive. I point to Aro and Liam. "Take care of them."

I pause and watch through the window as Aro swaggers his way across the lot. He's acting like he owns the goddamn place as he directs the car to a stop. I chuckle under my breath and lead my men into the empty hallway. There are two doors on the right, presumably old offices, and a long rectangular glass window, about head high, running along the left.

As I crouch, my men follow my lead. This fucking complicates matters. One of the closed doors is in direct line of the window, and not knowing what's on the other side of the window puts us in a predicament. But no sooner than I think that shit, does Garrett step up. He whips one of his handy little handheld gadgets from his waist and moves to the door. In a matter of seconds, he has an antenna looking thing extended and shoved under the crack.

After a tense minute, he withdraws it and mouths, "Clear."

The next door is farther down the hall, past the window's viewpoint, and Marcus moves to it immediately while the rest of us gather toward the end of the hall. There're two thumps and a gurgle before Marcus rejoins us.

"Two down," he says with an eye roll. "Playing fucking cards."

I nod, focusing on the hum of voices just around the corner. Garrett once again moves forward with a different gadget in his hand. The seconds tick by as he does his thing, and the monster feeds on the anticipation that's bubbling in my veins.

Garrett finishes whatever the fuck he was doing and turns. "Looks like twenty-two armed men, Boss."

"Rosalie?"

He shakes his head, glancing apologetically to my brother. "She's not in the next room."

"Aro," I call through the headset. "You and Liam guard the building. It's fucking on."

"I got ya back, Boss."

Without a word, I lift my MK 23 from its holster and attach the silencer, prompting my men who have silenced weapons to do the same. It won't be enough to kill them all, but the delayed reaction will give us time to take down at least ten of those fuckers before they're able to return fire. Emmett and Garrett are only equipped with fully automatic Uzis, so I direct them to take up the rear, appearing only when the shoot-out begins.

Everything leading to now was child's play. This is the moment the war begins. Caius, Marcus, Alec and myself will fan around the corner, picking motherfuckers off quickly and quietly. Not knowing the layout of the room is dangerous, but we'll work in tandem like a fucking well-oiled machine.

I grip my gun tightly in my right hand, holding up my left with a closed fist. I eye each man as I lift one finger, followed quickly by another. As the third finger stands tall, we move as a singular unit, each person's attention focused a different area of the room.

I'm in first and scan the room quickly, my focus zeroing to the left. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Four bullets leave my gun, and four fucking bodies thud to the concrete in the bay area of an old auto shop. Luckily for us, there are two rusted out, seventy-something model cars taking up the center of the room. As I run for cover, I fire two more shots. Both men fall, but one is gripping his leg and reaching for his weapon as I hunker down near the rear tire. Peering beneath the ass end, I send another bullet into his eye socket.

Gunfire erupts around me, but I stay intent on my mission. Get to the door on the other side of the room, and kill every motherfucker who crosses my path along the way. The sound of fast-moving footsteps meets my ears just as a pair of boots round the corner. Reacting swiftly, I jump up and shove my palm into his nose, sending him reeling backward. Another fucker takes aim, and instead of ducking for cover, I grab the stunned idiot and use him as a shield, his body jerking with each bullet he takes in my place. One precise shot sends the other man's brain splattering against the wall behind him, and I toss the dead body to the floor as I advance my position to hunker behind the second car.

A quick look underneath tells me there are five motherfuckers using the front bumper for cover as they exchange rapid gunfire with my men. I move to the back rear corner and take aim, dropping the closest one like sack of potatoes. That draws attention, though, and another sets his sights on me. I have no choice but to retreat and wait out the spray of bullets that start ricocheting off the car and cutting through the metal bay door. When there's a lull in the spray, I hear a pair of boots moving rapidly in my direction. I wait until just the right second before jumping up and clothes-lining the motherfucker. Then I drag him behind the car and mount him, grabbing a fistful of hair and slamming his head against the concrete.

The first blow knocks him fucking stupid and the next sends him into oblivion, but I don't stop there. I allow the rage to take over, and the monster revels in the blood that covers my skin and spills onto the old, cracked concrete. I'm in the zone, everything around me non-existent. The smell of iron assaults my senses, only escalating my murderous high, as what was once bone meeting concrete turns into splintered fragments and a bloody mass of brain splatter.

Only one thing has the power to reach me in this state. My brother. His roar echoes through the garage in chorus with a spray of bullets that draws closer and closer. I jump up quickly, fear gripping me, only to see him splitting the final man in half with an unchecked onslaught of bullets. Horror flits through me as he charges around the car and bursts through the closed wooden door.

My feet can't move fast enough. I'm behind him within seconds, but it's still too late. Ronald King has the barrel of his Glock shoved to Emmett's temple, and my brother's limp hand drops his Uzi to the floor. In the back corner, Rosalie is seated in a chair with a swollen purple eye and blood dribbling down her chin from a busted lip. Royce King stands next to her with the tip of a knife shoved into her side.

"Drop your weapon," Ronald says smugly.

The choice I face is a horrifying one, but this motherfucker has no goddamn idea who he's dealing with. I'm a cold, calculating, uncomplicated man. Not much matters to me, and though I feel for Rosalie, she isn't my fucking brother.

There's only once choice for me.

And Emmett knows it.

In the same second I lift my arm, he stomps Ronald's foot and shoves him backward just enough so he can get out of harm's way. My bullets zip through the air and thud into Ronald's soft flesh, causing him to stumble with each new impact.

I continue until my gun is empty.

My brother is on his feet and charging at Royce like a mad man, but his action causes a reaction. Royce stabs the knife low in Rosalie's abdomen and twists just as Emmett hits him full force, knocking them both to the ground.

I don't waste time on Rosalie—I'm not the one she needs.

Instead, I grab my knife and take several large strides before shoving Emmett to the side. I plunge the blade into Royce's heart and twist before yanking it out to allow the blood to pump out with every pitiful beat he has left. The look of shock in Royce's eyes as his life dwindles to nothing satisfies the monster and sends him back to his cage to bask in all the blood he's spilled today.

I look to Emmett, who hasn't moved a muscle, momentarily stunned by the ferocity of my actions. "Rosalie needs you," I say firmly. "Now!"

His eyes clear and he scampers to his feet, hurrying to lift her from the chair and lay her across his lap. She's wailing and hysterical—rightly so—yet one horrifying thing is louder than all the rest.

She's repeatedly chanting, "Our baby, Emmett. Help our baby …"

* * *

 **Yep, I've turned into one of those authors, and I'm sorry. I can't quite grasp what's wrong, but writing feels like pulling teeth these days. TSB readers, I will get back to it, I promise. Operation has 2 chapters and an epi left, and it's very possible those will post before any more TSB. I've been in a funk, so if this one feels a little …** _ **off**_ **… just pretend it didn't and tell me how much you loved it *bats lashes* It might help, seriously! Thank you for still being here, waiting, even when I've failed you :)**


	39. Pick Up the Pieces

**Thanks to 2browneyes and Sunshine for taking a quick peek. Please ignore any mistakes as I'm just trying to get it to you as fast as I can! They're all mine.**

* * *

 **Gore rating—4**

Everything around me slows as Rosalie's screams echo inside my head. Caius bursts through the door, looking around wildly, and it's Garrett who knocks him to the side as he rushes to Emmett and Rosalie, dropping to his knees.

"Give me your shirt," he demands, yelling over Rosalie's wails and looking to Emmett. "We have to apply pressure to the wound!"

Marcus appears in the doorway, practically dragging a slumped Alec.

"Incoming!" Aro shouts in my ear before an explosion rocks the building. The booming sound drowns out everything else, until his voice rings through the headset again. "All clear. Two SUVs down."

"Get the helicopter here immediately!" I bark, everything speeding up again as I take in the dire situation around me. "Caius, get one of those bay doors open! Garrett, prepare Rosalie to be moved."

I stride across the room and stick two fingers to Alec's throat. Nothing. "He's fucking dead. Drop him and go help Caius."

Whipping out my cell, I dial Demetri. "Rosalie's hurt!" I bark, urgency guiding my movements. "I need somewhere to transport her!"

"I was prepared for this," Demetri says evenly. "Stay calm, and I'll give you the coordinates."

"It's bad, Demetri."

"Listen to me, son. I have a surgeon on stand-by who has a top-notch, private OR in his basement," he replies, slow and steady, reassuring. "He thrives on bad situations, so she'll be in the best hands imaginable."

"How far away?" I ask, his calmness seeping into me through the phone.

"Twenty-two miles," he replies. "How are we transporting her?"

"Helicopter."

"That's less than ten minutes," he says, and I can hear his fingers flying over a keyboard. "I'm contacting him now. What type of injury do we have?"

"It's a deep stab wound to her abdomen," I say, swallowing thickly. "She's pregnant."

There's a pause in the clicks, but he hurriedly recovers and the taps come even faster. "Time is of the essence," Demetri replies, some of his earlier calm fading. "Get her on that helicopter."

"Send Aro the coordinates," I say, responding to his urgent tone. "I'll call you once they're in the air. It's a bloodbath down here."

"I'll be waiting."

The helicopter thunders overhead, and I pocket my phone as I move to Emmett's side. He's talking quietly to Rosalie as he frantically brushes his hand along her tousled hair. She's quiet beneath him, her eyes opening and closing slowly. She's fading, and it's apparent by her slow breaths and pale skin.

Garrett's keeping pressure on the wound, but the look on his face is grave. "It's bad, Boss."

I nod once. The monster's retreated entirely, but it's for the best. Emmett needs his brother right now, and I recognize that as he shudders when my arm falls around his shoulder. "We're ready to transport her," I say softly, and as he starts shaking his head, I raise my voice. "Yes! Demetri has already made arrangements, and the helicopter will get her there in less than ten minutes."

Tears stream down his cheeks, and his blue eyes are unnaturally bright as he turns to me. "How did he know, Edward?"

My brows furrow as I try to decipher his question. "Know?"

"The baby!" he yells, losing his composure. "We didn't tell anyone. _You_ didn't even know. How did Royce know!"

"It was me," Rosalie croaks, gaining our full attention. Her voice is strained, and she tries to lift her hand to his cheek, but she's too weak. "I thought …" She pauses and licks her dry, cracked lips. "I thought it might save me." She doubles over in a coughing fit, and Emmett flies into a panic.

I point to Rosalie, giving Marcus and Caius a meaningful look. She has to be moved. As they approach, I forcefully pull my brother away. He fights at first, but I steadily murmur soothing words in his ear, taking care to talk him through every move the men are making and how it's necessary to save her life. Garrett keeps a constant pace beside them, doing everything he can to administer the help she needs until we get her to the doctor. As soon as she's laid inside the helicopter, I let Emmett go, and he trips inside, crawling to her.

"Go with them, Garrett," I yell over the whir of the blades, grabbing his shoulder and staring into his eyes. "Demetri set this up, and I trust him explicitly, but if _anything_ looks off, you shoot first and ask questions later. Got me?"

"Yes, Boss." He nods, a determined look in his eyes. "I'll protect them with my life."

I clap his shoulder and shove him toward the door, stepping back as the blades pick up speed. After watching them lift into the air, I look around outside for the first time since before we went in. It's fucking chaos with dead bodies sitting in cars and crisp parts lying haphazardly around two SUV hulls that have been burned to the bare metal. The open bay door reveals dead bodies scattered inside the building, and I begin to wonder if there's anyone left to run Miami.

"What's next?" Aro asks, sidling up beside me.

"We get this mess cleaned up and try to find someone to pick up the pieces," I answer, noticing my remaining men are all standing around me. One thing in particular catches my attention, though. "Have you been hit?" I step over and prod a large stain on Marcus' shoulder.

He hisses as he snatches away. "It's no big deal."

"I'll be the judge of that," I snap, pissed he didn't tell me when the helicopter was still here. "Open your fucking shirt."

He shakes his head but does as I say. "Just a flesh wound, Boss."

I yank the shirt off his shoulder, eliciting a suppressed growl. Smirking, I jab my finger into the bullet hole. "Looks like more to me, but you'll fucking live. Get something wrapped around it to stop the blood flow until we're done here."

Caius moves over and gives his brother a warning look before cutting the sleeve off his shirt to tie it around his shoulder. He finishes the makeshift bandage by giving it an extra hard yank. Marcus allows his growl to slip through this time, though, as it's okay for him to show his displeasure to Caius—being the fucking Boss has its perks.

"Let's move these bodies inside the building and get it wired," I say, looking between Aro, Marcus and Caius. "Liam, collect Garrett's equipment and go get the SUV. We'll need it. I'm going to call Demetri and see if he's been able to locate anyone from Miami left alive." I smirk, feeling a little cocky. "And, Marcus, make sure not to get blood anywhere, especially out here. Wouldn't want you to be fingered when the pigs descend with all their forensic shit."

Marcus nods, pulling his arm out of his other sleeve and holding it out to Caius. "Tie this one around it, too. Might as well embrace the whole Rambo thing."

Caius chuckles and whips out his knife, while I walk a few steps away and pull out my phone. "You locate anyone?" I ask as soon as Demetri answers.

"I've put out some feelers, but no word yet," he replies, sounding optimistic. "I do have an update on the helicopter, though. It has landed and Rosalie has been rushed into surgery."

"Good," I respond. "Keep me updated, especially if things take a turn for the worse." I pause, waffling on my wording. "I'm not sure how a baby would survive an injury like that."

"I don't know, son. I've seen some miraculous things in my time," he says, trying to be encouraging. "Let's just wait and see."

"I assume, since you haven't mentioned her, everything's okay with Bella?" I ask, the melancholy of the moment making me think of my own love who's far away—but safe, unlike Rosalie.

"I checked on her earlier, and she and Bee seem to be getting along swimmingly."

"That's not necessarily a good thing." I smirk, appreciating the minute to talk shit before I return to the death and destruction around me.

"No. It's not."

"What the fuck, old man?" I ask with a snort. "You were supposed to reassure me."

He laughs. "Get finished down there, and you can see for yourself."

"Find me someone to take over so I can," I challenge, looking behind me to see if my men need help. "Just keep me informed. I'm gonna make sure these fucks do this shit right."

"I'll be in touch," he replies, and then rushes to add, "Do you want them to come to you?"

I pause, thinking through the question. "Yeah. That'll be fucking perfect."

I hit end and turn with renewed vigor. "I want to get a look at the faces of the dead," I tell Caius as I pass him at the bay door. "Maybe I'll recognize someone from my oppo research."

"Have at it," he says, waving toward the shop. "We've only got a couple more to drag inside, and they're the outside guards we killed first. I doubt any of them are who you're looking for."

I enter the building through the open bay door and move past the rusted car to the room where the war came to its end. Ronald and Royce's bodies have been stretched out to the side, while the rest of them are haphazardly posed along the far wall, sometimes even double stacked.

As I skim over the faces, a few look familiar, but there's only one of the Capos I'd originally targeted. Which means, the person I've chosen to become the next leader is still roaming Miami somewhere, but so are a few others who were marked for termination, including their Consigliere and another shady Capo.

Whipping out my phone, I dial Demetri again. "I was just about to call," he says in lieu of a hello. "I've located Stanley King and spoken briefly with him."

"Did you make him aware of their predicament?" I ask, picturing the old man currently serving as the Consigliere for the now defunct Miami organization. A man who'll fucking die before the day is over, but it doesn't mean I can't use him as a means to an end.

"I did," he replies, sighing. "And I don't trust him. You should expect the unexpected."

"No fucking doubt." I nod, motioning Aro over. "Make sure Peter and Randall Nomad attend the meeting. Relay to Stanley that I'm ready to leave it to them to restructure, and I expect them to be here within two hours." I pull the phone away and look to Aro. "Take Liam and guard the entrance. I'll be working to get you overhead support shortly."

"Got it, Boss," Aro replies, turning to find Liam.

"Let's get the helicopter back here," I direct Demetri, placing the phone back to my ear. "I want him circling overhead and in direct contact with Aro until this meeting has taken place."

"On it now," he replies, his fingers flying over the laptop keys. "I'll text you further developments as you await their arrival."

"Perfect," I reply, glancing toward the building where Marcus and Caius are lounging in the bay door. "Any word on Rosalie?"

"Still in surgery."

"Keep me informed," I say, squaring my shoulders. "Time to get ready for visitors."

Ending the call, I approach my men. "This building set to fucking blow?"

Caius chuckles and tosses the handheld switch my way. "Abso-fucking-lutely!"

The echo of helicopter blades whir overhead, and I huddle with my men to give them a general rundown of how I expect the evening to conclude. They don't seem overly impressed with my plan, but they're used to my style and this fits right in line with my take no prisoners manner.

My phone buzzes with a text from Demetri. _Caravan otw. ETA 20 mins._

 _Thanks. I'll be in touch when it's over._

"All right, men," I say, calling everyone to attention. "They're on the way. Aro, I don't want more than a handful of men to take part in the meeting, but I need to be sure Stanley King and the Nomad brothers are among those men."

"Got it, Boss," he replies through the headset. "I'll check IDs and eliminate the waste."

"I don't want it looking like a slaughter. I need these guys to pick up the pieces of their organization, not run and hide," I say in warning. Aro can be a bit much at times.

"I'll make sure the right men make their way to you," he says, pouting. "A guy can't have any fun."

"I'm sure you'll come up with something." I chuckle darkly. "Marcus, move the SUV in this area in case we need cover. Caius, grab the extra ammo and let's get our weapons reloaded. I want this to go smoothly, but we need to be prepared for the worst."

"Chopper has eyes on three blacked out cars headed our direction," Aro says through the headset. "ETA five minutes."

"Ten-four."

The next couple minutes pass quietly as I remove the silencer from my gun and replace the empty clip with a full one. Caius and Marcus both make sure their automatic weapons are loaded and ready, and then we just wait.

Silent and tense.

"Incoming," Aro murmurs through the headset.

We remain silent and listen to Aro's voice as he demands to see ID from the men in the first car. I'm fucking pleased when he says the names of all three men I'm expecting, along with two other names I'm unfamiliar with.

"Send them this way," I say lowly. "The other two cars aren't welcome to the party."

"I got this, Boss."

"Follow the drive," he says, and the activity falls silent as tires crunch against the gravel.

I listen intently, waiting for him to stop the second and third cars, but it never fucking comes. "Aro," I growl as the first car comes around a bend in the dive.

"Wait for it …"

As a dark trio, the three cars trail into view one by one. My jaw clenches as I imagine all the ways I'm going to make Aro suffer for his failure. But then something happens. A grenade sails through the air and expertly drops to the dirt in the space between car one and car two. A small explosion stirs up dust and gravel, causing the second car to slam to a stop just in time for another explosion to send it flipping through the air. Car three explodes in its spot and metal and glass bursts through the air. Cautiously, Aro and Liam appear as they each approach a different car with their weapons drawn.

Satisfied, I swap my attention to the first car; the one holding the two men who'll either prove their worth or die alongside everyone else. It's stopped in the drive, and I reach out my hand to wave them forward in a calm, non-threatening manner. When they don't immediately take me up on the invitation, my men make quick work of the burning stragglers and urge the car forward in a more forceful manner.

With weapons fucking aimed.

As soon as the car comes to a stop, the passenger door opens and Stanley King steps out. "What is the meaning of this!" he demands, his voice squeaky and high pitched.

Stanley is the younger half-brother of Roger King who was shunned for most of Roger's rule, so why his sons gave Stanley a position of power after Roger's murder is beyond me. What isn't beyond me, though, is the notion that I make sure they're _all_ fucking dead.

Every last King in Miami.

I chuckle lightly and shake my head as I approach him, putting on my fakest smile and clapping his shoulder to lead him away from the car. "Just making sure we have a level playing field here."

"Doesn't feel that way to me," he replies, stepping away from my touch like he has some fucking clout or something.

"You're right." I smirk and lift my gun, shoving it down his goddamn throat. "It's my job to take out the fucking King garbage, and you're the final piece of trash on my list." His eyes widen and he tries to pull away, but I lock my fist in his hair and cut my eyes to the Nomad brothers who're standing on the other side of the car. "I'm about to give you the opportunity of your fucking lives."

In the same motion, I release his head and pull the trigger. His body lurches forward as his skull explodes, sending shards of bone and brain splattering through the air. I use the tip of the gun to push his limp form backward. He drops to the dirt like the sorry sack of King shit that he is.

"Get him inside with the rest of them." I motion to Aro as I move around the front of the car and hold out my hand to Peter Nomad. "I'm Edward Cullen, and I hope we can come to a mutual agreement so I can get the fuck out of this town."

He takes it with a hint of leeriness, but he'd be a fool not to be fucking wary—I'm a deadly motherfucker. "I'm not sure exactly where we fit, Mr. Cullen, but we're willing to hear you out."

"It's simple," I say, releasing his hand and motioning for him to follow me toward the building. "I need you to take over this organization." The footfalls behind me go silent, and I pause, turning. "Look, I know you may still feel some loyalty to the Kings, but it's misplaced at best." I shrug. "And pointless. They're fucking dead. They ran this organization into the fucking ground, and if my research is right, you weren't fully on board with the direction they chose."

Randall steps up beside his brother. "You're correct about that, but what makes you think we have the power to unify and lead a bunch of King sympathizers who'll only want bloody revenge?"

I chuckle and flick my fingers. "This way." I lead them through the bay door and into the room of death, spreading my arms wide as I spin to face them. "Are these the King sympathizers you're referring to?"

"Holy shit!" Peter says, whistling lowly as he walks over to take in the faces stacked along the back wall. "It's a damn large number of them."

Randall kicks Royce's dead body and turns with a determined glare. "What do we need to do?"

I tilt my head to the door, motioning them to follow me back outside. "It seems I was mistaken on who's the leader here." As I come to a stop, I turn and hold out the explosive switch toward Randall. "Step one, take responsibility of this carnage like a true Boss would. Step two, gather your remaining men and organize, move past this and do a better job than those fucks in there did. Rebuild this organization from the ground up with a new image and give it a new reputation."

Randall slowly takes the switch and cuts his eyes to his brother. They have a silent conversation between them before he nods once. "We're in."

"Get that chopper landed," I order Aro before holding out my hand to each of the brothers. "Good luck, and if you succeed in turning it around, the Outfit is always looking for new business partners."

"Any advice?" Randall asks.

"Be ruthless but fair. Your word is law. Never ever let a motherfucker question you, except your closest confidants." I point to Peter. "This right here is your Underboss and you'll need someone you trust just as much for your Consigliere." I pause, the helicopter loud as it lands. "As much as I'd like to see this building blow, I think you need to save it until you get everyone here. Show them what lies inside and tell them how it's going to be, ending with a big fireworks show." He looks a little overwhelmed, but I don't have time to baby him. I jab him in the chest. "Be the fucking Boss."

As much as I'd like to do more, I need to get to my brother so I motion Caius and Marcus to the helicopter, while I hang back and follow Aro and Liam to the SUV. "Stick around on the down low," I say, leaning in the driver's window. "You make sure that building blows."

"Got it, Boss," Aro says, cranking the engine. "I'll report to you as soon as it happens."

I tap the door twice and make my way to the helicopter. Leaving the scene unfinished isn't exactly the way I do business, but this once I think these guys need that big scene to make a point. I hope Randall grabs the bull by the fucking horns, but this is a dirty business and it takes dirty people to be successful at it.

The trip to Emmett and Rosalie passes quickly, and before I'm even off the helicopter, my brother is jogging across the grass lawn to meet me. I hurry down and catch him in my arms, giving him every bit of comfort I can.

"Shit, is everything okay, Em?" I ask, freaking the fuck out.

He pulls away, wiping at fresh tears. "She's still in surgery. I just … I'm glad you're here."

I toss my arm across his shoulder and urge him to lead me inside, away from the thundering blades. "I came as soon as I could."

We go through a side door and down a flight of stairs. Emmett leads me to a small room with a couple of armchairs and a sofa with a coffee pot and some pastries on a table along the back wall.

He sighs as he takes a seat. "It's taking too long."

"No," I respond, sitting directly beside him. "She's alive. That's what you need to focus on."

He shakes his head, tears gathering in his bright blue eyes. "This is all my fault. If I'd have just agreed to stay in the condo, she wouldn't be here right now."

"You can't think like that," I snap, my anger rising at his defeatist attitude. "Never question your choices. In this business, we won't always make the right ones, and the sooner you accept that, the better off you'll be." Wetness trails down his cheeks, and it breaks my heart. "We won, Emmett. You have her back and she _will_ be o—"

"Mr. Cullen," a man interrupts from the doorway, and we both stand, Emmett more quickly than me.

"Is she okay?" he asks frantically, crossing to the man.

The doctor glances at me before focusing back on my brother. "Ms. Hale has made it through the surgery and her outlook is relatively good …" My brother almost drops to the floor in relief, and I step up to offer my support. " _But_ ," he adds, his expression turning sympathetic, "I had to perform an emergency hysterectomy."

"No baby," Emmett utters, his face going pale. " _Ever_?"

"I'm sorry. I did the best I could."

* * *

 **All right, guys. One more regular chapter. We'll pop back to Chicago after a little time to see where everything landed with our crew. I'll also give a future peek with an epi, and that'll be it for this one. Thank you for being so very patient, and I'll try to get back to TSB soon after this finishes.**

 **See you as soon as I can :)**


	40. To Heir is Human

**Super huge thanks to 2browneyes and Sunshine for sticking with me!**

* * *

 **Gore rating—0**

The engine rumbles between my thighs as I gun the throttle of the Busa, slipping in and out of traffic with the precision of a surgeon's knife. The speedometer ticks past the hundred mph mark, and adrenaline courses through my veins. The sirens are far in the distance and losing fucking ground, causing me to smirk as I shoot down an alley a few blocks from the tunnel to my garage.

Exiting casually, I look right and left for any sign of the fuzz before blending seamlessly into traffic as if I'm on a Sunday drive. As my pounding heartbeat slows, the monster retreats to his cage to sleep off the playtime high. It feels good to go out and look for trouble because you fucking can. Because you're no longer bogged down by a mob war that's been building your entire adult life.

As the gate closes behind me, I pull back on the throttle and burn a thirty foot black mark down the tunnel leading into the garage, and it feels fucking magnificent. Things have changed since we returned from Miami, but I'm a firm believer of making the most of what you have, and we're doing that. One fucking day at a time.

I rumble to a stop next to Bella's BMW i8, which was delivered just two days ago, and kill the engine. She's yet to drive it, and she forced me to go to lot after lot to end up choosing one from the very first place we visited, but she's going to look sexy as fuck when she finally does get behind the wheel.

Pulling off my helmet, I stand, swinging my leg over the Busa and starting toward Riley, who's glancing between me and the quiet tunnel. "Garrett's a lost cause," I say, waving toward the empty drive. "I lost him on the Interstate a half hour ago."

Riley chuckles, shaking his head. "Emmett's not going to be pleased."

My smiles falls just slightly as I think about my brother, but I rebound rather quickly. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him, right?" Garrett's my personal bodyguard now, and Emmett's a stickler for making sure he's around anytime I leave Cullen Place.

"Right, Boss," Riley says, recognizing the order without me having to spell it out. "Oh, there's a delivery for Miss Swan." He takes my helmet and scurries back into his little room, reappearing with a very large bouquet of flowers.

Fucking roses.

Goddamn _red_ roses in a Tiffany fucking vase—at least two dozen.

"Where the hell did these come from?" I snap as he shoves them into my hands.

"Special delivery." He shrugs. "Thought you might like to take them up so I saved them until you returned."

"Take them up?" I parrot. "Why didn't you trash them?"

"Edward." Demetri's scolding voice comes from behind me. "Will you ever learn? You don't _trash_ things that don't belong to you. You take them to Bella and allow her to decide for herself what to do with them."

I turn with a glare. "Why the fuck would Bella want some goddamn roses that aren't from me?"

"I have no idea, son," he says easily. "But it doesn't mean it still isn't _her_ choice to make."

"Fine!" My jaw clenches tightly, the know-it-all fucker, and I huff. "And if they're from a fucking stalker or some shit, I'm going to tell her to blame you."

"You do that," he says, smirking as he turns to openly flirt with Riley—who's at least twenty-five years his junior.

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy for him— _them_ —but it's also weird. Demetri's always been tried and true. A staunch and steady presence throughout my whole life. He was always there, and he said it was because the Outfit was the most important thing in his life—now, I know better. He was harboring a deep secret, and I'm glad he trusted me enough to share it. I'm glad I was in the position to accept it—him.

The sound of another bike echoes down the tunnel, and I smirk, hurrying toward the elevator. "Look at the time," I say, stepping inside. "Bella's really expecting this delivery."

Riley barks a laugh. "What do you want us to tell Garrett?"

"Tell him to keep up next time."

"Emmett's expecting us at two," Demetri reminds me, holding up two fingers as the doors start closing.

"See ya there."

The doors finally shut and I heave a heavy sigh, the scent of roses suffocating me in this small, metal trap. It only reminds me that some other fucker has sent my Bella a fabulous-looking bouquet in an expensive-ass vase. I spot the card, and instead of reaching for it, I try to light it on fire with my eyes. Demetri's voice echoes through my head … _The card belongs to Bella._

This boyfriend shit it hard.

By the time the elevator dings, I've worked myself up again and stomp out, peeking around the obnoxious bouquet. "Bella!" I yell, charging into the penthouse like a raging bull. "Bella!"

"Here I am," she says, and she sounds as if she's coming up the hall. "Awww, they're beautiful. You shouldn't have."

She sounds way to fucking gushy for my liking, so I stop and move the vase to the side. "I didn't."

"What?" she says, pausing, her eyes moving from me to the irritatingly gorgeous bouquet. "Who did, then?"

"There's a card," I say, and I try like hell to seem impassive as I slide the vase onto my custom crafted Dalbergia wood dining table. "Here you are." I snag it and turn, holding it out with as much restraint as I can muster.

"It's killing you, isn't it?" She smirks as she takes it and steps close, pressing her tank-top-clad tits against my chest. "Wondering who could've possibly sent me such a magnificent bouquet of flowers."

I answer her with teeth and lips. I'm hungry and angry and possessive as I shove my tongue into her mouth and take control. She's fucking mine, and I show it with unrestrained lust and passion. Goddamnit! She makes me fucking crazy. My mind spins out of control as I pull her close and attempt to inhale her very soul.

Just like fucking always, she meets me with even more passion and vigor, practically mounting me to anchor her thighs around my waist. Her breaths are heavy, and the little purrs she emits cause my cock to throb. Forget I had her only a few hours ago. Forget I'm going to have her for the rest of my life. Forget it all, because all I can think about is another man sending her an expression of love.

Growling, I pull away from her hungry lips. "Read the fucking card."

She looks to the crumpled paper in her fist that's clinging desperately around my neck and lets out a breathy laugh. Her legs unlatch from around my waist, and she slips down my body, straightening her skirt and tank as soon as she settles her bare feet on the cool marble tile.

Her face stays impassive as she works to neaten the small envelope and open it, pulling out a square card. Her brows furrow slightly, and then she shifts her eyes from the card to me, a smirk curving her lips.

"Bella," I warn, my voice low and dangerous.

She bats her lashes innocently and brings the card up to cover her smile. "I'm not sure who I expected," she says, lifting the card to read over the words again, "but this is fucking perfect. I couldn't have planned it better myself."

I grip her wrists and pull her close, leaning down to eye level. "Who. Are. They. From?"

"See for yourself." She uses two fingers to flick the card up near my chin.

Slowly, I release her and take it, making sure to keep my keen gaze on her until I can't take it anymore. I flick my eyes down to the typed words.

 _Cullen,_

 _Tell Bella she's wicked pissa and I've greatly enjoyed her lessons._

 _Killa_

This motherfucker. Relief sweeps through me because I know it isn't romantic—Bee would kill the fucking idiot. But my mind still races in a thousand different directions as I work through every possible scenario in an attempt to decipher the message.

Bella stands before me, swaying her hips from side to side as her palms trace over her thighs and come up to cup her tits. Her shoulders rotate in opposing motions, and her hands smooth down to span across her gyrating hips.

Shit!

Of fucking course.

She's fucking hypnotizing, and I get lost in the haze. I run my tongue across my bottom lip as I consider my options. The clock on the wall reads one forty-three, and I'm supposed to be at Grizzly by two, but this is more important, right? Cementing my ownership while also being owned is the ultimate rush, and I need that reassurance after such a tense bout of unwarranted jealousy.

I follow her every move as my fingers work the buttons of my shirt. Her eyes flash to my hands, and her tank soars through the air. _Gesù Cristo._ Her tits are firm and free and so goddamn suckable I almost lose my fucking mind as I rip away my button-up and desperately reach for her.

She meets me full force, her legs wrapping around my waist and the warmth of her pussy settling against my stomach. "Show me," she murmurs, her teeth latching onto my earlobe. "I'm yours."

Turning, I push the flowers farther onto the table and wrap my fist in her hair, eliciting a hiss as I bury her face in my neck. Her teeth dig in, expressing her displeasure, but I can't fucking help it. The monster in me feels vindictive and possessive and out of fucking control as I slam her on the table and free my aching cock.

"Mine," I growl, gipping her thong and ripping the flimsy material from her body. Tossing it over my shoulder, I grab her and guide her onto my cock, entering her like it's the first time all over again. "All fucking mine."

Surrounded by roses from another man, I lose myself in that same rightness I feel every time I'm with Bella. Sometimes it's easy. Sometimes it's rough. Sometimes it's desperate, and sometimes it's so fucking beautiful I could cry, but _every single time_ it's a reminder that I love and am loved in return.

It's two fourteen by the time I enter Grizzly, and Emmett jumps on my late arrival first thing. "Nice of you to join us, _Boss_ ," he says sarcastically, though not in a joking manner.

Things have changed in the weeks since Miami. My brother is no longer the gentle, timid, super-intelligent, easy-going man I've known my whole life. He returned to Chicago as a new and improved version of that man. His intelligence is laser focused now, one hundred percent aimed at securing the Outfit's interests across the US. Any notion he'd be a reluctant Underboss has faded into oblivion with the loss of his chance at a family. Sure, there are other options, but something inside them died with their child, making way for something new to take its place.

I don't bother to engage. I'm zen, freshly fucked and wishing I was still back at the penthouse. "Have you gone through the list of contractors?"

"I have," he replies, handing me a slip of paper with three companies listed. "Any of these works for me. Do you have a preference?"

I shrug, not knowing much about construction but also realizing the importance of this decision. "I don't know, Em. This is a big deal."

"I know." He sighs, moving to a small table where Demetri is looking over the plans for the remodel of the Grizzly Armor building. "This project is too important to let just anyone have access." He adjusts his glasses before tracing along a line on the plans. "Aside from allowing them to view our blueprints, these workers will have knowledge about our fail safes and last ditch escape routes. These are secrets that could cost our lives if they got into the wrong hands."

A spark of anger ignites inside me because he feels it's necessary to go through with such a thorough remodel of his home base, but I get it. I live in a fucking ivory tower, and he doesn't. He needs to know Rosalie is safe at all times, and I can't fucking blame him, so I offer the only full-proof solution I know.

"Hire one of these companies for the major overhaul," I say, flicking the paper out for him to take, "and hire a small, independent crew specifically to build the top secret shit. When the renovations are done, whack 'em."

"Sounds like a smart plan to me," Rosalie says, peeking from behind her new work station. "It's the only way to be sure."

As much as Emmett's changed, Rosalie's followed in his every footstep. She returned silent and broken, still in pain, but within days she was up and demanding to know more, to be more involved, to become a part of the Outfit. And while it isn't official, her position among us solidifies more and more each day as Emmett trains her in the ways of technical domination. She has her own space here in their section of Grizzly Armor, which will be walled off from the actual company in the remodel.

"If that's what it takes," Emmett agrees with a nod. "I'll get started on the research. We need to make sure we select the right candidates."

I should be stunned to hear them both agree so easily to a plan that I was only half offering, but I'm not. This is how complete the turn-around has been. They've changed before my very eyes, swapped roles to become Alice and Jasper 2.0, and for some reason, it doesn't bother me as bad as it should.

"Babe," Rosalie calls. "You have a new message from Randall Nomad."

I lift a brow at my bother. "You still haven't removed him from the fucking tit?"

"He's doing well," Emmett says, rushing over to read his little love letter. "I'm just making sure he knows we're there if he needs us."

I chuckle. "Are we?"

My brother narrows his baby blues my way. " _I_ am."

"Then, _we_ are," Demetri calls, standing and coming over to jab me in the side. "I'm proud of the work you've done with them, Emmett. It'll go a long way as Miami returns to its former strength and we form a profitable business alliance."

I hide and eye roll. "Now, a profitable business alliance I can live with."

Emmett's fingers fly over the keys, and when he's done, he kisses Rosalie on the cheek. "Want to hit the gym with us?"

"Not today," she replies. "I'm going to dig deeper into these construction companies. I want to make sure we didn't miss something important."

"I'll stay with Rosalie," Demetri offers.

"Are you sure?" my brother asks, a little of the old, less confident Emmett peeking though.

She lifts her eyes and matter-of-factly says, "There's nothing left to take from me."

And as cold and hard as I am, a fucking chill races over my skin with her words. "Fuck," I mutter, stepping closer and laying my hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Rosalie. I never wanted that to happen."

She rubs my hand. "I know, Edward."

I move across the room to give her and Emmett a few minutes to speak among themselves, and when he's done, he grabs his gym bag and joins me. This is new for us. My skinny, geeky brother has not only beefed up his outlook on life to include the Outfit twenty-four seven, but he also wants to beef up his bod. Not that I'm a gym nut, but the lengths I'll go to support him are pretty fucking far.

"What sounds good today?" I ask as we get on the elevator to go down one floor to the gym.

"Eh, let's hit the treadmill and we'll go from there."

Twenty minutes later we're jogging side by side as we shoot the shit, mostly about Outfit stuff. Since Miami, things have been calm overall. Midnight Sun is open and being run by the temporary manager from the before with the side benefit of legally employing some of the Wolfpack members as security. I didn't fucking like it, but this is one of those times where my Underboss and Consigliere felt confident in a certain path, and as the fucking Boss, I trusted them.

"How long do you think this remodel will take?" I ask, not even winded.

"Estimates say eighteen months, but I'm pushing for six."

"How the fuck you going to manage that?"

He shrugs, slowing his pace. "Have them work around the clock?"

I snort. "Maybe you should hire all three companies."

"Don't tempt me." He gives me a smart-ass side-eye, and this one is definitely in a joking manner. He sighs, shutting off the machine. "I just want it done. I want to feel confident our building is safe for her."

"Hey," I say, shutting off my own machine and stepping over beside him. "I don't think we have anything to worry about, but you can come stay in the penthouse until it's done. I don't want either of you feeling insecure."

"No, thanks." He holds up his hands, shaking his head. "It's a nice offer, but with Rosie and me out of the race, the whole family line is depending on you and Bella. I think it's best we leave you to it in privacy."

"What?" I ask, feeling lost as I replay his words in my mind. "Wait a fucking minute. You think … no fucking way." I shake my head adamantly. "Not any time soon, at least. Shit, Em"—I scrub my hand through my hair—"kids have never even crossed my mind."

"They have now," he sing-songs as he claps me on the shoulder. "My job here is done."

* * *

 **Ha! Looksie here, my mojo was alive and well since I last saw you. So I know I said 1 and an epi, but I'm 1500 words into the real final chapter. To be honest, the epi seems less important (for me) now that I "see" the end. This chapter tied it all up and showed us where they all are post war, and the next one will be all ExB, fulfilling a vision I had way back before I ever expanded the oneshot. Just some fun, standard ExB wrapped in that tidy little bow we all love at the end.**

 **So after that, I can work on a small epi and get it posted somewhere along the line, or I can just give you an AN paragraph that tells you where I see them in the future. Because I do have that vision, but it is also only probably a paragraph's worth of words at the moment.**

 **Did anyone read Rush, from the BatB comp? Cause I'm dying to get back there with my mojo intact and get it written. Sooooo, leave me some thoughts to help me decide what route to take, and I'll see again here next week!**


	41. The End

**Special thanks to 2browneyes and Sunshine, as always, for sticking with me and finishing this one up. Also special thanks to Ninkita who was with me for most of this, but toward the end I felt so behind that I just started posting practically as soon as they were finished. I so much appreciate your help from the very beginning. Also, another huge thanks to Fran for being with me through so many fics!**

* * *

 **Gore rating—0**

It takes three more weeks before I get Bella behind the wheel of her BMW. And fuck, when I do, she's even sexier than I fucking imagined. She's wearing a skirted business suit, but this is one of those that stops mid-thigh and the two button suit jacket _is_ the shirt. The pale blue material hugs her every curve, and her long muscular leg stretches out, tensed as she presses the gas pedal.

My fucking cock is uncomfortably confined by the jeans I'm wearing, and I shift, trying my best to act as if everything's normal. "Where is it we're going again?" I really don't give a fuck, just seeing her behind the wheel is worth the trip.

"TJ Maxx," she chirps, gracing me with a happy smile. "I need to get Bee a baby shower gift before this weekend."

"Oh," I reply, the reminder of her upcoming trip to Boston a sour note. Not that I'm upset she's going, it's just, yeah, I don't want her to go. "Is this store a baby specialty place or something?"

"Or something," she answers, reaching over to squeeze my thigh reassuringly, but it has the complete opposite effect.

My partly hard cock twitches to life, and I take her hand, bringing it to my lips. "You know I'm going to worry," I murmur, blowing my heated breath against her pulse point. "If anything were to happen to you …"

"It's a baby shower. Bee Masen's baby shower, at that," she says, glancing my way as she takes a right turn. "It'll be the safest event in America."

I chuckle because as much as I hate to admit it, she's fucking right. "Maybe I'll just go with you."

She shrugs as she turns into a … row of stores? "Up to you."

"Why are we at a strip mall?" I ask, sitting up straighter as she maneuvers between two rows of cars.

"This is not a strip mall," she replies, laughing. "It's a shopping center, and as you can see"—she shuts off the ignition and motions out her window—"TJ Maxx is right there."

I shake my head back and forth as I drop it into my hands. "You've got to be kidding me, right?" I peek over when she remains silent, and that goddamn hiked brow tells me everything I need to know. "Come on, Bella. You can't possibly tell me this place has something you can't get somewhere else."

"Probably not," she says, crossing her arms. "But this is one of my favorite places for a good deal, and I bet their baby selection is awesome!"

I lean across the console and cup her jaw with my fingertips. "You do realize a good deal isn't necessary, right? I'll buy you anything your heart desires, even if it's for someone else."

"I know you will." Her whole expression softens—score! "And my heart desperately wants to shop in this store."

Distaste fills my mouth, but I clamp my lips tight to keep from expressing it. She's so beautiful sitting there all hopeful and happy, and I don't have the heart to disappoint her. I can pretend, right? Focus on the woman and everything else will fade into the background.

I lean close and ghost my lips across the corner of her mouth. "Stay there."

Moving quickly, I unbuckle and remove myself from the car. It feels strange to be surrounded by endless concrete filled with row after row of standard suburban cars and unknown people going this way and that all brought together by their urge to spend money.

Opening her door, I lift it up out of the way, and my knees almost buckle at the sight of her sitting against the white leather, anticipating my assistance. She's a young boy's wet dream come to life from a poster on his wall. Taking her hand, I pull her to a standing position and shift her to the side so I can pull the door closed and press her tightly against it with my own body.

"The image of you behind the wheel of this car, wearing these clothes is driving me fucking mad," I whisper against her throat. "I don't know if I can act properly around people right now."

Her fingers trail up my back and into my hair, scratching lightly at first before tightening into firm fists. "You're the most powerful man in Chicago," she replies, her voice low and hard. "Act like it."

"Fuck!" I grunt, knowing she's right and I'm just making excuses. There's nothing I can't do, unless I don't want to. "Let's do this." I kiss her neck once and step back, taking her hand and placing it at my elbow.

It feels like every single person within a mile radius has stopped and is staring at us as we pass. I mean, I can't fucking blame them when it comes to Bella. Her long wavy hair is pulled away from her face, but it cascades down her back in a stream of pretty auburn curls that smell good enough to eat. The strappy, white high-heeled sandals and fishnet patterned clutch transforms her suit from sexy business to sexy casual, and she's just a goddamn vision.

Too fucking beautiful for this grungy place.

I have to glare one motherfucker down as he's just stopped in the middle of the row, blocking cars, and staring at Bella like he wants to snatch her and run. At first, I think I'll get by with just a sneer and the dumbass will continue on his way, but he's too engrossed in looking at Bella to even recognize me, so I have to take it a step further.

Pausing, I step over in his line of sight, and it takes the drooling fucker a few seconds to realize he can no longer see my Bella. My face starts off in a mid-level glare, but by the time this motherfucker realizes his predicament, it's turned full on, top-fucking-range murderous glare.

This is the one nobody alive has ever seen.

The stupid fuck almost face-plants into the asphalt in his hurry to get away, and I chuckle as I watch his wimpy ass run. A tug on my elbow brings me back to my beloved, and I'd know that brow lift anywhere. She saw it all and is not amused, but she's also willing to let it pass without comment.

Bella's steps pick up speed as we get closer to the door, and seeing her happy makes me happy. "I haven't been here in a while," she says as I pull open the door and wave her inside. "Maybe I can get a few new things for the penthouse, as well."

I smile at her lovingly. "You know if there is something you'd like, I can suggest many wonderful places where you can order whatever your heart desires."

She shakes her head and leads me to an area where there are purses hanging off chrome racks, piled on one after another. "You need to touch things, feel them against your skin. You can't always just know by looking at something on a computer."

"Ahh," I say, realization dawning. "This is where you're wrong, solare. Once you've become accustomed to the finest things, you'll know what it feels like before you touch it based solely on the material it's made from."

"Are you saying you've never just went shopping and bought a pair of jeans?" she asks, looking at me with soft, almost sad eyes.

"Of course I have," I respond, affronted. "I've been to the Gucci store many times."

"You poor thing," she says, brushing my jaw. "No wonder you're such a snob. I think it's time you live a little."

She takes my hand and drags me through the store, stopping here and there to make me feel all these cheap materials she thinks are luxurious. Don't get me wrong, there is real leather here, and silk even, but it's not the top-notch quality I'm accustomed to. This store isn't even up to my alter ego Anthony's standards.

I've somehow got to stop her from giving Bee the diaper bag she's selected, without hurting her feelings or making a big deal of it. It's cute to look at; black leather with yellow trim and lined inside by yellow satin, but _we_ , the Outfit Cullens, can spend a lot more than ninety-nine dollars on a gift for the Masen-Swanatori family.

As she fingers through a row of dresses, I slyly snap a couple of shots and send them off to Jessica … _Find me a replica more suited to my tastes. Would prefer a bee monogram added for personalization, and it's a diaper bag so make sure all materials are soft and durable. You have 4 days._

"What is that?" Bella asks, peeking at the text just as I hit send.

"Just doing a little shopping of my own," I reply, giving her a pointed look. "Will you be open to considering my selection for a diaper bag if I can offer a suitable choice before you leave?"

"Are you suggesting I not buy this one?" She fingers the bag in her cart.

"Not at all." I fluff her hair and inhale the clean, flowery scent. "I'd just like to offer an alternative, and the choice will be completely up to you."

"Give it your best shot." She smirks, tossing a dress into the cart. "I happen to think this bag is perfect, and Bee will love it."

A fist wraps around my heart. "I love _you_."

"I know," she says softly. "Let's get out of here."

"Thank fu-ugh."

Her elbow in the stomach cuts me off. "Be nice."

I follow her as she leads us to the line and move up until we're at the front. Like the gentleman I am, I place each item on the counter and produce my credit card when it's time to pay. I also gather the cheap, plastic handles together and lift the series of bags in one hand while taking Bella's in the other. At the door, I pause and spin to my back, pushing it open so she doesn't have to lift a finger.

Once on the sidewalk, Bella surprises me by going left. "One more store," she says, casting a glance at my stupefied face. "I promise it won't take but a minute."

I huff, but I still follow behind her like a good little puppy dog. She doesn't travel very far before disappearing inside a store. I pause and take in the small, green tree emblem on the door before following her inside.

If I thought the other store was bad, it's nothing compared to this nightmare. Even the air feels cheap. It scorches my throat and burns my lungs. I feel like I'm drowning in plastic no matter which way I turn. Everywhere I look signs scream that every item in the store costs the same, and I feel like I might lose my mind.

"Edward." Bella touches my arm, and I jump. "Are you okay?"

"It's too much." I shake my head. "I need to get the fuck out of here."

"Stand outside while I pay," she says softly, but instead of looking sympathetic, she looks like she's fighting back a smirk.

My eyes narrow. "Do you think this is funny?"

"Yes," she answers plainly, "but I'll try not to laugh at you. Now, go. I'll be out as soon as I pay for this card and gift bag."

My mind spins as I stumble my way through the door and inhale the polluted outside air in large gulps to wash away the cheapness. "Fucking hell," I mutter as I lean against the glass storefront. "Why did I agree to this shit?"

The door opens and my reason for everything steps out. Yeah, that's why. I'd walk through fucking fire if she was standing on the other side. She's new to this lifestyle, so if she needs to shop at these bargain basement stores while she acclimates herself to our wealth, then she can damn well do so.

I just won't be joining her next time.

"Ready?" I ask, straightening and moving over to collect the bag from her. "I have a surprise for you."

"Oh?" she asks, slipping the bag from her wrist to mine. "Did you just magically cook it up while I was in the Dollar Tree?"

I fucking snort, of course it's named the goddamn Dollar Tree. "I _could've_ ," I say, bringing my arm around her waist to lead her across the parking lot, "but not this time. This surprise has been in the works for several weeks."

"Well, then. I can't wait to see what it is." She smiles so fucking beautifully it takes my goddamn breath and pulls her key fob from that cute little clutch, unlocking the doors and popping the back glass so I can drop her bags inside.

I'm fucking relieved when I finally get her tucked behind the wheel and we're leaving this shopping mayhem in the rearview mirror, but it presents an entirely different kind of problem. My goddamn cock throbs as I watch her weave in and out of traffic like a fucking professional race car driver.

"Fuck, solare," I murmur, pushing against my cock with a groan. "I don't know how much more I can take."

She looks over, licking her lips for good measure. "Then let me see you."

I almost explode right then as I scramble to get my zipper open. "Eyes on the road," I command, and she obeys as I fist myself. "Pretend this car is my cock. Show me, baby. Show me how you want me to drive it."

What follows is an erotic, high-speed journey through the streets of Chicago. She drives the fucking car with power and ferocity while I work myself over just as passionately in the passenger seat. It's insanely hot, and as soon as I shoot my load into the carpet, I move in close to whisper dirty words in her ear while my fingers fuck her soaking pussy.

By the time we enter the tunnel, both of us are sporting goofy grins and totally fucking chill, until Garrett's bike appears behind us. "Where the fuck he come from?" I snap, turning in my seat to glare at the lone headlight. Bella downshifts suddenly and pops the clutch, barking the tires as she swiftly slows the car. He almost rams us in the ass, and I huff a sudden laugh. "Serves him right. Nosy motherfucker."

"Do you think he's been _out there_ this whole time?" she asks, casting her wide, wondering eyes my way.

"No fucking doubt, especially if Emmett knew we were going for a drive," I say, leaning over to trail my hand up her thigh. "No worries, baby. Garrett knows I'd gouge his fucking eyes out if he eavesdropped on anything personal between us. I'm sure he kept his distance."

Her thighs tighten, trapping my hand between their muscled warmth. "Don't start things we can't finish," she warns, casting me a naughty glance.

I flop back into my seat with a goofy fucking smile. "Do you know how much I love that you're just as goddamn horny as me? I'm the luckiest motherfucker alive."

She whips the car into her parking slot and shuts off the engine, shifting to face me. "You're beautiful, Edward. And complicated and awful and a lot of no so pleasant things, but I know all of that and despite it, you're mine. All fucking mine, and I want you every second we're together."

Jesus. What is that burning at the back of my eyeballs? "I …"

"Shh," she soothes, placing a finger over my lips. "No response needed." She tilts her head to the side. "Can a girl get help with her door?"

"Right," I mutter, scrambling to get out and hurrying around to lift her door. I'm slightly disoriented by the strange softness I feel over her declaration, but the sight of her behind the wheel sets me right again. I hold out my hand. "Miss Swan, if I may."

She tosses her hair over her shoulder, her scent bombarding my senses, and takes my hand. "Thank you, Mr. Cullen."

I pull her up and into my arms, holding her close for a brief moment before releasing her and shifting us toward the two motherfuckers who're approaching. "Garrett." I smirk, pulling Bella just a little closer to my side. "We weren't aware you were tailing us today."

He shrugs, palming the back of his neck. "I stayed at a good distance, and you even lost me on the way home. Glad to see you made it safely."

"Right." I grab Bella's keys and toss them to him. "There are some bags in the trunk I'd like sent up to the penthouse, and the interior needs a thorough cleaning, especially the carpet."

"This was your first ride, yeah?" he asks, his brows furrowing. "Did you spill something?"

"You could say that," Bella replies, her smile fucking devious.

I chuckle and start leading her toward the elevator. We're still in post sex fashion, wearing messy clothes with sticky skin, but I can't for the life of me find a fuck to give. The moment has come, it is now, and I feel it so deep inside me that the words are clawing inside my chest, screaming to be spoken.

As we await the elevator, I kiss her cheek. "I'll be right back. I need to speak with Riley for one second."

As I leave her side, the constant pull from her body to mine feels like a magnet. I ache to be back at her side. I ache to attach us in way so permanent, we can never be broken. I ache to be hers and for her to be mine.

"Riley," I call from the doorway to his guard shack. "The studio. Is it ready? I can't wait any longer."

"They're coming to polish the floors, but other than that it's good to go." He's quiet as he watches me waver, and before I can make the decision, he opens his small safe where my keys are kept and tosses me the velvet box. "It's written all over your face. Go for it, Boss."

I nod, shoving it into the pocket of my jeans because I'm a fucking idiot who didn't think this through very well, and hurry back to where Bella is holding the elevator as she waits for me.

"Sorry," I murmur, placing a soft kiss to her cheek as I take her hand and lead her inside. Pressing for the Lobby, I turn to her. "I hope you're not in a hurry. I have somewhere I'd like to show you."

"Wherever you lead, I'll gladly follow."

By the time I retake her hand to lead her from the elevator, my palms feel sweaty against hers, and I fucking cringe. Though I don't have much time to ponder it because we're stopped outside a set of double glass doors soon after. The room is bright, but you can't see inside because it has an image of an abstract white swan covering the glass.

I blow out a breath, taking both her hands as I face her. "I know you haven't complained or even asked for this, but I think I know you well enough to know you'll fucking love it. So without further ado …" I release her hands and swing open the doors, stepping to the side.

Her steps are slow and measured as she enters. I stay behind and watch as she takes in the room. It's a large rectangle with hardwood floors, mirror-lined walls on two ends and a wall of windows opposite the doors. All of the glass is covered in the same swan graphic, and it's that material where the people inside the room can see out but no one can see in. All it needs is a name for the final branding.

I hang back until her hands move toward her face and her shoulders shake. She loves it. I knew she would. And this is it. My moment. I quickly withdraw the velvet box from my pocket and drop to my knees.

She whirls, searching for me, and when her eyes land on mine it's as if time stands still. Tears are frozen on her cheeks, and my mouth is frozen closed, unable to open and speak the words everything within me is screaming.

"Edward," she cries, dropping before me.

"Bella, baby," I whisper, the words getting stronger, _me_ getting stronger. "It took me a long fucking time to realize I was allowed to love, and I put you through hell. I fucking know it, and I'm so goddamn sorry. But if you'll let me, I'll give you everything your heart has ever desired. You'll live like a fucking queen at my side. Please"—my voice cracks—" _please_ , say you'll do me the extraordinary honor of becoming Mrs. Cullen."

The tears that seemed still earlier flow freely now, she nods emphatically. "Yes, Edward. Yes!"

She flies into my arms, and I catch her.

Something shifts in me when that ring slides onto her finger. I become a real man. One who sees a future other than the one the Outfit will provide. I see all the possibilities with Bella, and I'm no longer afraid of the idea of a family. With her, I crave everything.

 _Operation Nail the Swan_ was a wicked plan by a horny asshole who thought he was untouchable. But this woman, Bella Swan, touched me in ways that are indescribable.

* * *

 **THE END**

" **I" am not making fun of any of these stores. I live in a town where Walmart is the only department store, so I have to travel far just to see a TJ Maxx, and I LOVE Dollar Tree, but Edward** _ **is**_ **. This is who he is and always has been, and I've dreamed of torturing him this way for a looooong time.**

 _ **I think I've given this story enough to feel completely told, but if you want to know my vision for the future click Next to read the**_ **Not an Epi** _ **.**_

 _ **If not, click the X in the top right corner :)**_

 _ **XOXOXO  
Fyre**_


	42. Not an Epi

**Read at you own peril. This is** _ **my**_ **vision for their future. The beauty of how it ends is that** _ **you**_ **can completely imagine your own future for them. Yours might be different, so don't read unless you want to know.**

* * *

As you can imagine, Edward produces the most fabulous diaper bag with an embroidered bee buzzing around on buttery black leather and lined inside with yellow silk. And Bella, realizing she belongs in a totally different world now, does choose to give it to Bee.

They marry a few months later in a simple justice of the peace ceremony in Chicago, and then they all converge on a private island off the coast of South America to have a lavish ceremony where Special Agent Swan is free to walk his daughter down the aisle and mingle with the Outfit.

Back in the real world, Charlie and Bella pretend to have a strained relationship for the world until he retires, but they also have many happy moments beyond the view of prying eyes. The Cullen/Swan professional bond remains and Charlie and Edward work surprisingly well together, which can mostly be attributed to how much Edward loves Charlie's daughter.

Edward and Bella have 2 children starting about 5 years down the road, both boys, who will follow in their father's footsteps, but I also imagine they take dance with their mom as kids. Bella spends her life as much removed from Mob activity as possible, while also staying tight with the Cullen family and some Outfit members. She teaches dance and enjoys her husband when he's not off whacking people.

I had actually seen the epi starting right after their sons' swearing in ceremony. Oldest (probably Masen) becomes Boss and second (possibly Anthony) Underboss. By this point, Demetri is dead (old age), and I see Emmett (And Rosalie, unofficially) shifting to the role of Consigliere for the nephews.

Aro is dead from some ridiculous stunt that didn't quite go his way, but the other two are alive and well, and Caius is still higher up in the pecking order, helping Emmett and Rosalie advise the new generation.

I know you guys wish for better for Rosalie and Emmett, but let me explain that. When we started this fic, Emmett had a toe in the mob world. As it progressed and the Miami situation pushed closer, he'd stuck his whole foot in. But part in and part out isn't good enough, so we needed that catalyst to put him completely in. At first, it was meant to be Rose's death, but I decided to keep her and take something else. It's perfectly cannon, and this is a mob fic. We're lucky so many we like are still alive at all.

So the Emmett you read in that "after" chapter is just a taste of the new Emmett. The construction thing was my example of how radically changed he is (Edward has always been that cold). He, with Rosalie by his side, is ALL in, completely dedicated to making sure his family never has to deal with something so troubling again by personally using his talents to stay on top of everything within his reach—and as we know, it's formidable. He's formidable. Over the years there were times Emmett was more Boss than Edward, but that was okay, Edward had a family he had to look after, and these brothers are close. Always have been.

Rosalie never had an official position, and she and Emmett never married, but she _is_ family, both to the Cullens _and_ to the Outfit. She and Emmett thrive in their newfound mission as the first line of protection. They also thrive in their position as Aunt and Uncle. They were never jealous of ExB's ability to have children, and why would they be? They were able to love and care for these kids as their own.

So now, 30 years later, Edward is ready to pass the torch to his more than capable sons and travel the world (not officially out, you never are) with his Bella, while Emmett and Rosalie stay behind and continue to share their wealth of knowledge with the new generation.

P.S. Garrett slowly worked his way under E's skin as his personal security and they've become great friends. He married Tanya about fifteen years ago, Bella's friend from before, but was never officially inducted into the Outfit. He's free to live his life as he chooses.

Riley is still with the Outfit and, so far, hasn't moved on from his love for Demetri. He was by his side as he passed.

Elizabeth Cullen only just passed recently. She maintained her distaste for the Cullen family business, and because of it, she missed out on sharing in the life of her beautiful grandsons. Though their relationship was strained, the Cullen brothers put on just the type of show that Elizabeth would've been proud of for her funeral.

* * *

 ******Maybe one day I'll write some of this or maybe a new charity will come along and I'll donate an outtake or maybe I'll miss these guys and just want to spell stuff out for myself. If I ever do write this ^^^ chapter, I'll replace this with that chapter. Other things, different outtakes, will post after this. And if I never post anything else, I still feel good with what I gave you :)**

 **I will get TSB finished, probably 4-5 chapters left, but after that, IDK. I need a break from FF. I've been writing and posting steadily for 4 years straight, sometimes 2 stories at a time, and I feel stressed. I'm sure I'll write something else, but I'm not sure when or what.**

 **I hope some of you enjoy my writing enough to take a look at RUSH when it comes out later this year or early next. It will be my first completely original fiction, and he's a man who could've never been a successful Edward. I like a bad boy, and RUSH is really bad.**

 **Lots of love,**

 **Fyre**


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